Dancing On Hedgerows
by mrnon
Summary: Mrs. Bennet dies in childbirth in 1803. Mr. Bennet is found dead in 1804. The Bennet Orphans must make their way in an unforgiving world which does little to aid poor and powerless females with only their charms to recommend them. This is their story. AU with a HEA (but not an easy journey) Rated T for allusions to adult situations and violence, no descriptive content of either.
1. PROLOGUE

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: This tale promises a HEA, but will not be an easy road before we reach that point. Should be about 15 -20 chapters in length. Will try to keep a regular once a week Wednesday posting. No beta presently, so please excuse my typos and errors. Feel free to point out anything that needs improvement. I appreciate and encourage all constructive feedback._

 _If anyone is specifically knowledgable about theatre in Regency England, I would love to pick your brain. Please private message me._

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 _DANCING ON HEDGEROWS_

ROMANCE & MYSTERY

 _PROLOGUE:_

 _April 1809 - Covenant Garden, London_

Fitzwilliam Darcy was not a man in the habit of brooking disappointment. Raised with good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit; taught to think highly of his own family, and meanly of the rest of society, he had always assumed on the subject of marriage that he would have his pick. It was only natural and just that he would be an ideal objecT of admiration to any young woman, for he was as uncommonly well-featured as he was well-read, well-off, and most importantly, well-connected. The Darcy family, though untitled themselves, could boast of relations with one of most prominent Earldoms in the country, a more distant cousinship to a very important Dukedom, and ancient lines of no less than royalty.

To be summarily thus rejected, as he had just found himself to be, to be thoroughly denied, to be hated, was perhaps more than he could begin to comprehend. It would take many months of reflection and deep introspection before he would begin to see the truth of what unregulated pride had cost him. He had always assumed that any private interview such as this could have only one conclusion; the happy acceptance of his hand to any lucky female he would deign to extend his offer. Now his object stood before him and had rejected him without a second thought. It could not be.

"Is this all the reply I am to expect?" He spat, taking in her grim countenance. "I might wonder why with so little an effort at civility I am thus rejected - but I must allow for the differences in our respective stations."

The object of his affections, such as they were, had been looking away from him, toward the hearth of the little parlor they shared, but she swiveled in her spot to face him directly. Her words were all that was proper, but her speaking eyes burned with a malice that Darcy had never seen directed toward himself before.

She spoke in a tone of rather strained civility. "I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone, it was most unconsciously done, and shall, I hope, be of short duration."

Darcy paled, grew silent, and stared. In these past several months of sweet torment, the longest winter of his life, the deep ache of longing he felt had slowly consumed him. The way her eyes would meet his across the room, the soft lilt in her voice as they had talked, debating, laughing, dare he say it - _flirting_ , the soft pressure in her hand as she met him in dance … he had never stopped to consider that she had not desired this just as much as he. He was an undeniably eligible match, what woman should not rejoice in so superior an offer as his? He had been assured of his success on that score alone, but he had been sure that there had been more than just material inducement for her. She could not be indifferent to him. It was an insupportable notion, he could not fathom it.

He stood away from her, visibly recoiling himself from the sting of her disdain. In a clipped accent he spoke. "You have always been delightfully enigmatic. I find that in an audience such as this, however, I must beg you to speak more plainly. Why have you rejected me? Can I have been so mistaken in recognizing your regard? I do not think it possible for a man of sense."

She sighed then, with a heaviness that a young woman of not even one-and-twenty should ever carry. "You have asked me to speak plainly - and so I shall, though it will bring neither of us any pleasure. To be frank, Mr. Darcy, I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it upon me most unwillingly. In circumstances such as these, it is the usual form to express a certain degree of obligation for the sentiments avowed, no matter how unequally they are returned. Yet I cannot. You have told me you liked me against your pride, your judgment, and even your character! You have insulted me in every possible manner. What pride, what arrogance, what selfish disdain for the feelings of others!"

With such strongly stated disapprobation tempers could only rise, even for gentlemen of good breeding. Darcy did not shout, for it was beneath his dignity, but his anger came through very clearly in his address. "Disguise of any sort is my abhorrence. I can not pretend to rejoice in your situation. Who are you, Miss Bernard? Do you think my family will take kindly to my lowering their connections so severely? We would be the derision of society, and yet still I offer for you! I have come before you an honest man in this, my conscious is clear. An actress! You have many admirers, Miss Bernard. Mine is not the only offer you will receive in your lifetime, though it may be the only honorable one."

As soon as he words were spoken, Darcy immediately felt his color drain in regret. Though he spoke truthfully, there were many things that should remain unsaid in the presence of a lady, especially the lady you wish to marry. The actress's dark, flashing eyes become suspiciously moist, her cheeks flushed, her pretty, pert lips parted in hurt astonishment.

"You have said quite enough, Mr. Darcy. I must bid you good day."

"Please, Miss Bernard, forgive me."

"I find that I can not, at present." She rang the bell for the footman.

An able bodied gentleman, Darcy was quick to cross the length of the room and take her hand in his. "I have loved you these many months past. Please, if you can not accept me, have pity on me and forgive me for abusing you so abominably just this moment. It was not the conduct of a gentleman."

"I have made many mistakes in my life, Mr. Darcy." She replied, deftly pulling her hand from his. "More mistakes than I would care to remember, in fact. But I have never allowed myself, my very existence, to be considered one. How can I give up the life I have built for myself for a husband who views his love for me as a degradation? It is an inconceivable feat. You remind me of my station, and the superiority of your own, as if I have no notion of them myself - as if every time I am invited to a dinner or receive a caller, I am not painfully aware of how tenuous my place is in society, and how much my very livelihood depends upon the good opinion of those such as yourself!" She paused then, gathering her composure after such a passionate speech. She could not help but speak with feeling, for it was her life's work, but she knew that her skills as an actress must be deployed to regulate her temper rather than heighten it on an occasion such as this.

Though her body pulled from his, her eyes, that had so mesmerized him these past months, could not help but seek his out. Her words were harsh, and yet those speaking eyes held a great deal of pain behind them. "Mr. Darcy, all you have accomplished with the mode of your declaration is spared me any of the pain I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner. Regardless of this insult, to accept your offer there is no debate. It can not be done. I am not at liberty to marry anyone."

Finally he bowed, low and mockingly. "Forgive me Madam. You have made your feelings quite clear. I now only have to be ashamed of what my own have been. Clearly you are deserving of all the praise which is delivered to you daily - you truly are the consummate thespian. I had not realized I was simply another player in the saga of winning your affections."

The footman arrived, and the actress turned to him with a beguiling smile. "Mr. Darcy's call has come to an end, Michelson. Will you kindly see him safely out?" She curtseyed toward her would-be suitor with all the regal airs of a queen. "Good day, Mr. Darcy. Do try and remember the bard's words, "All the world is a stage," after all."

"You are only too correct, Miss Bernard. I hope when the curtain falls on this performance, you may look forward to positive reviews. For myself, I think it is a sorry tale." He bowed and turned toward the footman.

"Lucky for me than, that you are my harshest critic. I daresay I hope this performance was at least tolerable for you."

He fixed her then, with one long look, rage, disappointment and unrequited affectations all tangled together in a furious knot. Then he was gone.

They would not meet again for close to two years from this encounter, and under only the most unusual of circumstances.


	2. CHAPTER ONE

_September - 1810, Hertfordshire_

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that single man of good fortune must be in want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters. And so it was for Mrs. Collins of Hertfordshire, who's sharp management of her household knew what an advantage such a thing could be for a family of six living on a very strict income.

Her husband, Mr. Collins, had inherited Longbourne Estate through an entailment, the death of the previous owner without male issue resulting in his current rise into landed gentry. He had not grown up as well-off , a miserly and barely literate connection to his genteel cousin, so it was a very strong stroke of good luck for him that Bennet had only managed to father daughters. Being a poor relation with little education meant that the opulence of Longbourne, such as it was, was closely guarded under his avaricious control. He knew full well what it was to do without, and guarded his inheritance fiercely. Any effort to scrimp, save, or generally economize was taken full advantage of. When the estate had fallen under his control half the staff had been cut, and the allowance of those under his care had been reduced to figures so small they hardly signified.

Like many marriages, it was the duty of Mrs. Collins to ensure that her husband's exacting standards were met in all ways. She was very much the chatelaine, always on a mission to ensure such tight-fisted stringency with her family, her staff, and her tenants as well. Therefore when the news reached her of a gentleman of means entering the neighborhood, she set forth on a very determined course of action. Netherfield Park had been let at last, to a Mr. Bingley of Yorkshire, unmarried, and worth 4,000 a year at least and it was to the unmarried lady in _her_ house that he would belong to.

Longbourne, though a small estate with only a middling income, had been the principal seat of the county for many generations. It had at it's start, been more prosperous, but a few unforgiving winters and weak harvests, combined with poor choices by previous owners in management had lead to it's present state. Mrs. Collins knew that such an estate simply could not afford to keep up maintaining the large family it was beholden to, especially on the allowance provided by her husband.

Longbourne currently supported three dependents, and Mr. Collins grew more resentful with each day that they passed under his care. They were not his daughters after all, and their father should have done more for them in his lifetime to see them well situated after his death. Bennet had left his children next to nothing -no dowry worth speaking of, and no skills that could give them useful employment. It was only by the pleading of his wife, and the carefully chosen sermons of Christian charity by the local vicar that he induced him to allow them to stay on. Mrs. Collins was at heart an optimist, but even she realized that her husband's patience would wear thin. The Bennet girls were being to come of marrying age - and it was time to remove them to another man's household. It is not an easy thing, to find husbands for dower-less gentlewoman in as confined and unvarying a society as Hertfordshire, so Mrs. Collins chose to view Bingley's arrival as a much needed boon, his fortune her ultimate and unyielding object.

According to Mrs. Collins' plans, the companion of Bingley's future life was to be Mary, the eldest of the girls still under her protection. Although not truly beautiful, Mary

was a pretty thing in full bloom of her youth at nineteen. Being a Bennet, she had little to recommend in the way of fortune, but she was by far the most accomplished young woman in the county. She could play, sing, speak French and German, cover screens, embroider cushions, design a menu, budget a household, and to all this was added the great improvement of her mind, through extensive reading. She might have become a blue-stocking prone to moralizing if she had been left to her own devices, for Mary found her greatest comforts in scripture and education; but Mrs. Collins had been adamant in teaching her that godliness was not the _only_ virtue a young lady of insignificant means needed in order to procure a husband or secure a position. Lead by Mrs. Collins example, her manners were cultivated to be everything charming, and although naturally shy, she was known to be well mannered rather than a wallflower.

The need for Mary to marry was great indeed. Although she was a gentleman's daughter, Mr. Collins did not intend to allow his charges to reside on charity forever. She had been taught many skills that would make for a decent enough governess, and should she not be married upon reaching her majority, he fully meant to set her on that coarse. The tight-fisted Collins did not allow for any kind of loafing about - even his son from his previous marriage, the heir to Longbourne, had been made to find a living until his turn came to inherit.

Master Collins had been ordained the previous spring, and had sought and found a very reasonable living to support him until the care of the estate would fall to his hands. Mrs. Collins took this recent development as a boon as well - one less mouth to feed at Longbourne, a decent living and good connections coming to the family. The news had brought some good humor to her husband, who could not be called an amiable man. Seeing Mary wed would only add to their good fortune, and especially to Mrs. Collins own peace of mind. Though she had learned to guard it well, she had a very tender heart, and she could not abide the thought of any young girl being cast out to make her own way in the world, to starve in the hedgerows, least of all her own dear sister.

Securing Mr. Bingley was a necessity to the well being of the family, in Mrs. Collins' eyes. With such an important mission before her, she set off, squaring her shoulders, and entered her husband's study, banishing away the sadness that such a room brought with it, with memories of the previous master of Longbourne. There was no purpose in losing oneself in melancholy when there were such tasks to accomplish. Mr. Collins spoke not a word to his wife as she entered, only looked up from the ledger book with the austere countenance of a humorless man who did not wish to be bothered, and waited for her to speak.

"Pray, Mr. Collins, I beg you would forgive my interruption. However reports of a most alarming nature have recently reached me - have you heard, Netherfield Park is let at last?"

He said nothing, but the furrowing of his brow told her to continue with haste. She must come to her point before he lost what little patience he possessed. It was never a pleasant thing to incite his ire, and it was easily brought about. "It has been taken by a Mr. Bingley, of Yorkshire, an unmarried man, who brings his sister to keep house for him. As the principal seat in Hertfordshire, it is your duty as the head of this house to call on him, and welcome him to the neighborhood. And you must secure him an invitation to the assembly in a fortnight."

"How dare you presume to remind the master of the estate what his duties to his neighbors are, Mrs. Collins? You forget yourself." He gruffly replied, his brow creasing with the beginnings of anger.

Sensing his displeasure, his lady immediately sought to sooth him. Having been married nearly seven years, Mrs. Collins knew immediately when to change her tactics. Her husband was rarely in good enough humor to give consequence to the thoughts of a woman, especially her, but when she demurred and flattered he was more ready to listen. Casting her startling blue eyes towards his feet, she willed her flush of angry frustration to transform into a becoming blush, then glancing up at him through thick dark lashes she softened her voice. "I pray you excuse me, husband. You are surely the best of masters and the best of men. I merely seek your urgency in this matter, if you could be so good as to humor me. You must know I am thinking of dear Mary's interests, as well as your own, in securing him for the assembly as soon as may be."

"Mary." Collins spat the name like a curse. "It always come back to her, does it not? You take such an eager interest in her concerns."

"Oh Mr. Collins," his wife allowed herself to transform his name into a purr, "surely you must know that in looking after her interests, ultimately I am looking after your own. I know that in becoming the master of this estate and my husband you have been placed with many more burdens than should have been yours. Allow me to ease your suffering. With Mary safely married one of your burdens would belong to another man, another family, forever."

"Who will wish to marry such a plain, spindly little thing as her?" He asked, though his wife could see the softening of his resolution. "She is headed toward a life of service, I am sure of it."

"This could very well be true," she acquiesced, "but before we resign ourselves to such a fate, we must remember what would be most beneficial for Longbourne. Mary's alliance to any man would be of help to us here, but a man of five, or six thousand a year? Now that would be something. It would lead the way for the other girls to make fortunate alliances, once they are out in society. A sister in service would do no such thing, only lower our connections."

"Six thousand a year did you say, Mrs. Collins?" The number was enough to turn the miserly man's head though nothing else would. "Perhaps it would be best to make this Bingley's acquaintance with haste. After all, it would not due for those Lucas's to forget their place once more. Longbourne is the head of the society here, and I am the head of Longbourne." Here Mrs. Collins saw her husband began to build himself up with pride, and she encouraged this conceit to the best of her abilities.

"All you need to do is call upon him, my dear husband." Mrs. Collins replied, taking his weathered hands in her own soft pink ones and throwing him her most dazzling smile, "Call upon him, secure him for the assembly, and you may leave the rest of it to me."

"Perhaps it would be best if I chaperone Mary, in your stead. It would not due for Mr. Bingley to make your acquaintance so soon. You are five times as lovely as any of the insipid creatures in this county, Mrs. Collins. Mr. Bingley may decide that he likes you best of all." He gazed up at her, half transfixed in lust by the beauty of such a smile, the other half filling with only the jealously an old man can feel when beholding his young, nubile, and stunningly handsome wife.

"Oh husband!" She cried with a laugh, kissing his hand, "How you do run on! Certainly come if you are so inclined, it is my greatest pleasure to have your company at such events, however, I know how you dislike the activity so. It is only my wish to spare you such a tedious evening." And pulling herself away, she curtsied with a practiced manner of flirtation, excusing herself from the room before her husband began to fill his head with jealous and lustful notions.

Her object for the morning had been satisfied, and Jane Collins, once Bennet, had much planning to do.

—-

In a small, comfortable room some many miles away in Town, a young woman fingered the delicate petals of rose blossoms that had been gifted to her with a wistful smile. There were many such arrangements crowding the space, filling the whole room with a heady, intoxicating scent. Admirers and patrons, men and women alike, were always sure to curry her favor, just as she was to curry theirs with wit and conversation at any opportunity. Some merely dropped a pretty line, a compliment for an ego already self-satisfied with her own talent, others elaborate displays to parade their own wealth and ostentation…a pack of peacocks fanning their feathers in competition. Yet the simple arrangement of six red roses, wrapped in a black ribbon overshadowed anything else.

The note that accompanied read simply:

 _Little dove - Though I am sure that today congratulations are in order for your masterful success, I do not forget to give you my sympathies as well._

 _-Forelli_

If the recipient of such a note had to blink away a few tears at the reading of it, there were none to witness. In the whirlwind of activity that had lead to this night, the months of hard work and anticipation as she finally, finally took to the boards in the role she had long coveted…it had been easy to overlook this year what so many past had been impossible to ignore…the anniversary of her dear father's death. But he, darling man!, had remembered, despite everything else. He was always thinking of her, taking care of her even when she did not realize it was needed or necessary. What a balm he was to her troubled spirits whenever she was low, what a source of comfort and voice of reason! She thanked God nightly for placing the gentle Italian in her life when she had needed him most.

Their meeting had been unconventional to say the least. She was little more than a child when she had first come to Town, to stay some months with her Aunt and Uncle after Father had passed. Her family was in trade, a profitable line that meant the pair often rubbed elbows with an eclectic mix of London society, lords and ladies, the working class, and the strange set that somehow fell in-between…artists. Benito Forelli was a rather famous portrait artist that had been brought from Italy to England when mad King George had been in rather a better state of mind, and finding the strange city to his liking, he had decided to stay indefinitely. It helped as well, that the English aristocracy paid rather well for portrait work of supreme quality. It was happenstance chance that brought him to her Uncle's warehouse on the same day and at the same time that she and her Aunt had stopped in while making social calls. He had been seeking a bolt of fabric with the proper degree of sheen to reflect the light exactly as he wished it for his most recent commission, and had been recommended to her Uncle by a mutual acquaintance.

It was her laugh that had initially caught his attention and caused him to turn his head, but when he met her eyes, he was lost. Immediately upon seeing her, he had stomped over and grabbed her hand bowing over it furiously.

"Come please, little girl, come and sit. I must sketch you. Your eyes are unlike any I have ever seen." His accent had been very thick then.

Rather affronted at such a poor display of manners, her Aunt had stepped in swiftly. The two had argued, Uncle had soon been located and brought into the discussion, and soon it was decided amongst the adults that she would sit for him for two hours to sketch, while her Aunt completed her morning calls. She had not been overly keen at the notion of leaving her young niece in the care of a foreign gentleman she was entirely unfamiliar with, but only agreed when pressed with the weight of what a compliment from such a distinguished gentleman could mean for the business - and when a suitable chaperone could be acquired. One of the older ladies who worked in embroideries was brought in to chaperone the sitting, and off she had went, albeit it a trifle reluctantly.

At the beginning of their make-shift session in Uncle's office, Forelli had been at first delighted, and then grew increasingly frustrated as the time passed. He had muttered under his breath as he worked, crumbling pages from his sketch book and dropping them to the floor in his agitation.

Without looking up from the page, he finally snapped. "Why do you stare so?" Her quizzical looks had burned through him.

"Why do you mutter so?" She shot back, innocent and wholly confident.

Forelli had sighed heavily, "I had thought it would be a simple study, to capture such fine eyes. But I can not make them out. Child - what are you? Are you angry, or sad, or are you laughing at me? Each time I look up from the page your look has changed entirely."

"I had not realized," she had "that human nature was so simplified by an artist's hand. Have you never laughed when you are afraid, or smiled through your tears? I will not explain my heart to you, sir, a stranger."

She had hardly been able to believe her impertinence as the words came tumbling out of her mouth. Father had always encouraged her quickness of mind, but she had better manners than to speak such a way to an adult, a stranger, her Uncle's client, and a respected member of society. If her mother had been able to witness such a display!

Forelli, however, did not appear affronted. He had merely looked up once again from his sketch pad…and this time he smiled in understanding. "You speak your opinions very decidedly for so young a person." She opened her mouth to apologize, but he held up a hand. "Please Miss, I find it refreshing." And suddenly his head had been bent down, back to work again. No more drawings were discarded until the end of their time together.

They had not met again for another year entire after this encounter, but it was one that neither the artist nor the girl could forget. Such boldness in one so young, such fire and passion in a delicate English rose, hardly blossomed, consumed and inspired him. What a juxtaposition to see a girl hardly more than a child, speak with such eloquence, to have such an expression of innocence and knowing too much of the world all at once! She had, unwittingly, become his muse, and his creative mind was sparked with a flame that would soon grow into a fire. She on the other hand, had simply marked it as one of the most singular afternoons in her young life, and turned it into an anecdote she shared with relish. They had no notion then, of ever meeting again…but fate had intervened in a matter as unusual as their initial meeting. Now, some six years later, the pair were as close as any parent and child could be, for all that they had adopted one another.

She sighed, pulling the simple arrangement up to her face and inhaling deeply. At this point, he simply knew her too well. Roses were always a reminder of home, of the quiet country life she had left behind to seek her independence. Mama had kept quite a garden through the spring and summer, that made it's impact by the virtues of both use and beauty. There were many beautiful bouquets decorating her small sanctuary, and while she appreciated the exotic novelty of hot house flowers, at the end of the day, there was nothing quite like a simple English garden. For all that she relished in the life she had made for herself here, the recesses of her heart still longed for the rolling hills of the place she had called home in another, faraway, life.

However, she was not of a constitution made for melancholy. The wit of her most beloved father had been his parting gift to her, a daily reminder of the life she had left behind, but her greatest source of strength. She tried to remember the past only as it's remembrance brought her pleasure, and to discard the darker days to make room for new, happier memories. Tonight was such a night -and father, if he could have been with her now, would have such sport to make of the throng of adoring fans who awaited her!

A knock sounded on the door, and her manager, dear Mr. Thompson, called out her. "Adelaide, my dear, are you ready? It is time to wow the masses once more."

"Yes, yes, I am coming presently. Just one moment, if you would." She called back, splashing some cool water in her face and pinching her cheeks.

"Make haste, I beg you!" His was rapidly loosing patience with every passing moment, "Lord and Lady Matlock have waited a quarter hour already to attend you, and you know they are one of the greatest patrons of the arts in this city! You would do best to curb your wild impertinence for an evening! This is one favor we must curry above all!"

His speech would have continued then, gaining in alacrity if not for her appearance at the door way. Thompson was immediately stopped in his tracks, though he had known her many years now, her edifice still managed to strike him dumb. She was not a beautiful girl in any of the classic sense of the word but she cut an undeniably striking figure. In a modest, pale green evening gown of good quality, with silver plated, pearl encrusted combs containing her dark, wild, curls, she looked every bit the part of a lady. It was exactly the costume of the young lady who Mr. Thompson hoped to introduce, elegant, poised, and undeniably genteel. Yet for all her finery and perfect comportment, there was a sense of danger that hung about her, mysterious and intoxicating to all those who were so fortunate as to make her acquaintance.

Her features were cut in the strongest of cloth, and immediately made her stand out in a room of soft, delicate creatures. Her figure, was light, pleasing, and decidedly feminine in it's form but it was as always, undoubtedly, her eyes that captivated. Evenly placed on either side of rather long, thin nose, and framed by a bevy of thick, dark lashes her eyes at first appeared as a rather ordinary set of brown - but as you examined more closely, they began to come alive. What an explosion of colors awaited you, should you seek them out, from the deepest green, to grey, honey gold and back to a rich earth brown once more…what intelligence, what passion, what pain could be discerned within them! She was visceral, raw, and the most complex young woman Thompson had ever met. He had known the moment Forelli had introduced him that here was woman who could capture London with the force of her charm alone. His instincts had been right. Adelaide Bernard was a sensation.

A sensation that one of the greatest patrons of the arts in the country was now eager to meet.

Adelaide was not one who found herself to be overly impressed by aristocracy. The education of her youth by her father's knee had taught her to make sport of her fellow man, and allow others to laugh at her in their turn. Every person had their idiosyncrasies and foibles, no matter their elevation of rank. Yet on this evening, she found herself leaning on Thompson's arm ever-so slightly more than her usual wont. These were _his_ relations. It had been almost two years since their last fateful meeting, but Adelaide had never forgotten Fitzwilliam's passionate regard, or his insulting proposal.

Now she would be introduced to people worth impressing, an acquaintance that could materially help her career. Yet she would supplicant herself to no one - she had been a beggar once in her life and would never do so again. She wondered what they had heard of her -surely the gossip rags had plenty to say, but had _he_? She took a fortifying breath and allowed herself to be lead by her manager.

The pair passed through the general thong of theatre goers who still milled about after the show, awaiting their carriages and hoping to see and be seen. Courtesies and nods were given to the general populace, as well as charming smiles, but it was made very clear that Miss Bernard had an important guest awaiting her and unfortunately no time to spare for her admirers. Finally they arrived at the private -sitting room, where the theatre owner, Sir Gregory, entertained his guests of important.

"Ah, Miss Bernard, Mr. Thompson how good of you to join us!" Sir Gregory began, the smile on his weather worn face positively glowing as he stood. "Allow me to make the introductions."

He indicated to the elegantly appointed couple in room, clearly the earl of Matlock and the countess. "Lord Fitzwilliam, Lady Eleanor, it is my very great pleasure to present The Royal Covenant Garden's blooming young star, Miss Adelaide Bernard, and the brilliant man who discovered her, Mr. Harold Thompson." Addressing Adelaide and Thompson, he continued, saying, "Mr. Thompson, Miss Bernard, it is my privilege and honor to present Lord Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock, and his elegant wife, Lady Eleanor Fitzwilliam, two of the greatest patrons of the arts in our great country."

Adelaide felt the assessing eyes of Lord and Lady cast upon her and immediately felt her nerves dissipating. Her courage always rose with every attempt to intimidate her. She smiled charmingly, and began her courtship of two of the most influential people in the kingdom.

Let Fitzwilliam Darcy say what he wanted about her - he had been right in one respect at least that fateful day, she _was_ the consummate thespian. She would win them, as she had so many before them.


	3. CHAPTER TWO

_AUTHOR'S NOTES:_

 _THANK YOU, THANK YOU! I am overwhelmed by the response this story has received so far, 20 reviews and a ridiculous amount of follows. I'm very flattered._

 _A few questions have been raised in the reviews, some of them will be answered in the text of the story, but a few things will be clear up now._

 _Mr. Bennet died in 1804, Jane was 15, Lizzy 13, Mary 10, Kitty 8, Lydia 6. Jane and Mr. Collins are married after a six month mourning period, making Jane 16 and Collins 49 at the time of their marriage. A disturbing image, I know, but a large family like the Bennet sisters with very little money and no well-off relations to help support the sisters meant either accept the offer or split up the sisters and have their status in life materially diminish. Neither the Phillips or the Gardiners are pleased to see this happen for Jane, but there was little other recourse than marriage for the protection of young women in the day and age we are working with in. This subject will be touched on in many ways throughout the story line._

 _As far as the younger Collins being married off to Mary as an easy solution - this is a valid point that totally slipped my mind as a possibility. I already have a plotted course for Mary and will work that into the context of the of her story...to me, Collins' principal motivation in this story is greed, I imagine having already "done well" by the Bennet family by marrying one of their daughters and continuing to support the others, he considers his obligation to that family fulfilled._

 _Here is the next chapter of our journey, please continue to review - your thoughts are welcome, your assessing eye for grammar and typos appreciated, and your readership is valued._

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Adelaide sighed as soon as the door shut on the great members of society who had deigned to call upon her this afternoon. Tuesday was her to day to be at-home to callers, and it was always the day of the week she dreaded the most. For all her society airs, she was, in her heart, quite the country girl. The crowded drawing room full of admirers and enemies alike was stifling. When she made calls, she could choose to partake in company only she enjoyed, but here she must suffer those it was deemed necessary by the men in her life to cultivate.

Being the muse of such a renowned artist as Forelli had always meant company was in strong supply, even before her stage debut. He had been her entranceway to this society, for good or for ill. When his painting, _Il Riso Venere, The Laughing Venus_ had been presented five years prior, the curiosity about the beguiling creature representing the goddess had made her an object of interest. Now that her career had launched, there could be no denying the popularity of Miss Bernard's at-homes. It had undeniably become a place to see and be-seen. She credited herself on keeping an excellent table - she had been raised by a country mother who prided herself in her hospitality, and so Adelaide's refreshments were always of the highest quality. The conversation was always stimulating, for with such regular fixtures as Forelli and dear Thompson the world of art always remained a central topic of discourse. Yet for all the good food and good conversation, Miss Bernard felt herself just as much on the stage in her drawing room as she did on Covent Garden.

Only dear Forelli ever seemed to sense her exhaustion at the end of these excursions. He smiled at her now, his liquid black eyes sparkling in sympathetic amusement. "Ah, my dear girl, at last you are free from the maddening crowd once again."

She laughed aloud, a pleasant, almost melodic sound, and sank down into the plush settee without any worry as to the grace of her action. "What I would give for a long walk in a little piece of wilderness - where no one knew me or wanted to talk about Hamlet for one more god-forsaken time."

"Yes," He replied, his accent giving a more pleasant cadence to dismissive words, "what a tiresome thing it is, to be admired. Is it not the right of an artist to despised in their day, and only appreciated once they have gone to dust? How inconvenient that we should have to suffer the indignities of success and respect together!"

The young woman made no attempt to conceal the roll of her eyes. "Once again, my dear friend, you bring me to task over my insolence. Indeed, being admired is our bread and butter. I should not resent the niceties of such a life. I have very much so chosen this path, and I do not regret it. Yet I can not help but be utterly exhausted by such an afternoon! To please and be pleased for seemingly endless hours, it is quite exhausting."

"We are courtesans you and I, for our purpose to others is to bring them endless pleasure, nothing more or less. Art is the greatest piece of whoring that was ever done by mankind. We make them feel, whether it be boundless joy or impossible despair. We live to serve, to bring this emotion out in others."

"You are as correct as always, Maestro. I am a whore of feeling. That is much too true."

Forelli could not help but notice the distant look that entered her fine eyes with such a statement. They were feeling eyes, and often told more of his young charge's troubled past than she would have him know. Forelli knew more of her real self than anyone else in her acquaintance, yet he often felt as if he had barely scratched the surface of her mystery. It had been that pain she held so closely to her breast, that mystery that had so-consumed his own artistic drive. It was more than the loss of her beloved parents, more than the separation from her childhood home and family. She was virtuous, yet not innocent. What had befell her before he had come to know her? When he had first encountered her, the budding English rose, the depth of her feeling had arrested him. She had been an unwilling subject then, exasperated to sit so still, but he had needed to take such emotion down with his pencil. Her guardians had been wary, but properly chaperoned could have no cause to repine.

After that afternoon in the warehouse, her character had captured his imagination and unwittingly become his muse. So young, but with such wisdom and feeling! It was a rare commodity to be sure. He hadn't thought to ever see the girl again, but she had found him, had turned up on his door step and put herself in his protection some six years prior. Forelli prided himself that he had done well by a young girl, unprotected and friendless, by taking her in. He had educated her, clothed her, dressed her, painted her, and given her a path to independence. She was by no means a melancholy creature, constantly caught in her sorrow, yet there was dark and haunting air that seemed to cling to her. It was a heady, intoxicating power that she unwittingly possessed, for though she laughed freely and often, she was a tragic creature all the same. People were drawn to her. It was what had given her such monumental success on the stage. She was talented and industrious, always seeking to hone her craft, but her haunting essence was the key to her budding fame.

Forelli was sure that one day he would uncover the whole of _Adelaide's_ past. She could not carry all of her history with her forever. He also knew that today was not the day to pry. One day, Forelli was sure she would reveal the entire sad tale to him. It would happen in her own time.

Gently, he met her eyes and said, "You should take this opportunity to rest, little dove. Tonight we dine with the Matlocks, and we must have all our wits about us when put on such a display."

She laughed ruefully, a single brow arching in amusement. "This shall be the most important performance of my lifetime, of that I am absolutely certain."

He tipped his graying head toward her in a mocking salute, "Prepare the armory, tonight we go into battle."

vVvVvVvVvV

Mrs. Collins sat in her drawing room paying little mind to the company she kept. Lady Lucas had been a great friend of her mother, but Jane did not consider herself to be on intimate terms with the elder woman. It was for her daughter, Charlotte, that Mrs. Collins kept the acquaintance with the same intimacy that had been her mother's. Miss Lucas was a dear friend indeed, not just to Jane, but to Mary as well…and very kind to the younger girls, when they were at home. Charlotte was a wonderful companion, lively enough when called for, but perhaps the most sensible young woman Jane had ever had the pleasure of meeting. The logical order of her mind was often able to sort through the tangle's of Jane's own troubles when discordant thoughts led her astray. If her mother was a preening, gossiping old biddy, Jane would tolerate it with a smile for Charlotte's company. Lady Lucas was prone to prattling, and Mrs. Collins only need smile and make inconsequential comments when appropriate.

The subject that dominated the conversation was, of course, the assembly ball that had been held the previous evening. Lady Lucas was in her glory. Her daughters, sensible Charlotte, and the rather more feather-headed Maria, had done very well for themselves. They had each stood up with the new comer, Mr. Bingley, and Charlotte in particular had been sought out for conversation with the two sisters that had accompanied him. Privately, Jane thought that _her_ charge had done better for herself. Mary had her own set with the dashing Mr. Bingley, and he seemed well pleased with her, but her greatest feat was the conversation she had held with the formidable Mr. Darcy, his friend!

If Mrs. Collins considered Bingley to be a boon of good tidings to the neighborhood, that he had brought with him a single gentleman more than twice his worth could be considered nothing short of a miracle. It was rumored that Darcy owned half of Derbyshire, and while his manners held nothing to recommend him, she was determined to think well of him for Mary's sake. A small, teasing voice in the back of her mind supposed that he must be the owner of the miserable half, for he had the most dour expression through the course of the evening; but she laughed off those suppositions with a rueful smile. Mrs. Collins had not been the wit of the Bennet sisters, that gift had belonged to one of her younger sisters, and ever since she had left the household, the occasional reminder of her humor would pervade Jane's thoughts.

No, Jane was determined to think well of the gentlemen, especially on so short of an acquaintance. She interrupted Lady Lucas' self-congratulatory monologue with a question directed toward Mary, who had so far been rather quietly reworking a bonnet.

"Sadly, Mr. Darcy did not seem to have the same happy, obliging manners of his friend, or the eager feet for dancing. He did however, spend the whole course of a set in conversation with you, Mary, and I don't believe I saw him speak much more than two words strung together to anyone else outside of his own party. Whatever did you speak of?"

Mary's head was bent over a particularly difficult bit of stitching, and she did not look away from her work as she responded. "In truth, Mrs. Collins, I would hardly call it a conversation so much as an interrogation. Mr. Darcy asked me many questions about the area, the families here, and our own situation, but I can not say that I learned anything at all about him. I was able to speak with Mr. Bingley much less during our set than I did with Mr. Darcy, yet I was much more able to begin a sketch of his character than of his friend."

Charlotte took this moment to intercede with her own thoughts. "Mr. Darcy is certainly a distinguished gentleman, clearly from the first circles. From my own view, he seemed less proud than some assumed, and much more uncomfortable. It must be an awkward thing indeed, to walk into a room full of strangers, who then begin bandying about your name and your worth before you have even had the pleasure of being introduced! I would shudder to be put on such a display."

Lady Lucas smiled at her daughter indulgently. "My dear Charlotte is always so level-headed about these things! It would not due to pass judgment too soon, though he did seem a proud, disagreeable man. Perhaps he was in an ill-humor or feeling poorly after his journey. We must press on in our civility and show him that the society here in Hertfordshire is just as well cultivated as the first circles!"

"Very well put, Lady Lucas." Mary replied, head bent and working with a steadfast vigor. " As the good book says, _'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares_.' It is not only a sign of good breeding to treat our new neighbors with respect, but a soundly Christian principle."

Only a sharp observer would be able to detect the slight narrowing in Mrs. Collins' eyes as she watched her sister. On the surface, the very pretty display of serene domesticity she presented did not falter. Yet Jane had learned to observe people closely in her confined and unvarying society. It was a method of survival in a an unkind world which did little to shelter soft-hearted dreamers like her from the harsh realities of life. It had taken long years to craft and hone such a talent, but now Mrs. Collins was very adept at reading people, perhaps her greatest accomplishment. She often used this skill to adroitly avoid her husband's ill tempers, of which he had many, or to put the company of those around her at ease. Today she turned those same attentions on Mary, who knowing her sister best, would not look at her. The younger girl was hiding something, Jane was absolutely certain. But what could it be and why must it remain hidden were the real questions she needed to answer.

Blithely, Jane pressed on, determined to make her point. "Perhaps reserved is the best description we have for the mysterious Mr. Darcy so far! He was not one for idle-chit chat, and yet he did spend the better part of half an hour in your company, my dear. It is a remarkable thing indeed, to be so singled out by such a taciturn man."

The faintest beginnings of a blush began to tinge Mary's cheeks with such a remark. Taking pity on her, Charlotte laughingly interjected into the conversation before she could reply. "We ladies may pride ourselves on our good sense, but it must be owned - a lady's imagination is a very rapid thing. It goes from notice to admiration, and admiration to love in the course of a day's acquaintance. Let us leave poor Mr. Darcy be, as he is to be in residence with us for some months, at least as I was told by Mr. Bingley."

"Do not despair, my dear Mrs. Collins." Lady Lucas added, patting Jane's hand with a smile, "We will have our chance to come to know the Netherfield party better soon enough! Sir William and I are to give a party at Lucas Lodge in a fortnight, and you are all invited!"

"These are glad tidings indeed!" Was the courteous response.

The tête-à-tête continued in a similar vain for some minutes. The lace of Mrs. Hurst's, Mr. Bingley's married sister, gown was much admired, as was the plumage of Miss Bingley's headdress. Mr. William Collins, Jane's adult step-son, was politely asked after, and so on the conversation generally went, as morning calls are so often wont to do. It was only moments before the ladies of Lucas Lodge were about to return home that the master of Longbourne returned home from a morning of riding the estate.

Longbourne had not employed a steward in many years, well before Henry Collins had gained his inheritance. And so it was that he dealt with all his tenants directly, with little understanding or compassion for the tribulations of farm life. Michaelmas had been past a week, and still his tenant had not finished pulling in his crop, nor paid his rent. Collins was always eager to be paid his due, and had gone to sort the matter to his satisfaction. The incident had been resolved in a manner satisfactory to no one but himself, for he had extracted his rent at a great cost to the family. He was extraordinarily pleased with himself, and returned to the manor house in excellent spirits.

Not the most expressive gentleman in tone or countenance, often times these bouts of extreme good humor could be detected by little other than a marked difference in his gait. On this warm autumn morning, there was decided purpose to his stride as he crossed Longbourne's threshold, great coat already in hand. Broad shoulders set back and high, back erect, his weathered head sat upon his neck with all the regality of a king enthroned. A thin, sheen layer of perspiration from the morning's exertion highlighted the deep creases in his brow and the crow's feat of his eyes, and then slanted down across the broad, flat planes of his face to thin lips perpetually resting in a grim line. He was not an altogether unattractive prospect, even for a man more than 6 and fifty.

Mrs. Collins' eyes turned to take in the sight of her husband as he crossed into the room to bid the callers good morning. She felt a weight lift from her as she met his eyes, for though they did not twinkle, there was a steely, excited, brightness to their look, as if suddenly the Master of Longhorn had achieved a new degree of awareness of his surroundings. He was awake, truly awake. In this light, she tried to view her husband as an attractive subject, and could make herself begin to see him as such, for a moment. It was a fleeting feeling, but in the morning light, as he stood at that moment, raised up proud at his full height, filling the drawing room doorway with the impressive frame of a large man who had known labor most of his life, she could view him more charitably.

He had certainly been considered handsome once, and considered still so by other women, but his humorless temperament always ensured he showed himself in his least attractive attitude possible to Jane. It was not an ugly face, Mrs. Collins would often concede to herself, but it was not a face that had seen any laughter, it was not a kind face at all. Try as she might, Jane's soft heart struggled to respect or love a husband with such little gentleness in him. She had been a grief stricken child when they wed, with no mother to turn to for comfort, support, or education on her wedding night. Jane had sought protection from the harsh realities she had been violently accosted with in life, by the passing of both her parents within the course of a few short years. She had agreed to marry Longbourne's heir because she wanted a father to guide her, and her sisters….her husband had very different expectations of what such a relationship should entail….and as her husband, he was well within the rights to do with her as he pleased.

The early days of married life had not been easy on sweet Jane. There had been many abrupt and drastic changes made to her life so rapidly, that at first she had hardly been able to keep apace with all the new feelings they entailed. Jane was the eldest of five sisters, and now she was the leader of four orphans, who had only each other to cling to. She did not have the time for grief or self-reflection, she was far too busy running a house and tending to a new husband for that. She had been a soft but steady girl growing up, known since child hood for her good natured temper. Few would have looked at her, including her own parents, as a pillar of strength, for she was truly a docile creature, but Jane became the backbone of the Bennet orphans. It was with a very rapid pace that she adapted to married life. She learned swiftly that her husband had all the power in the house, and took great pleasure in wielding that power. He was her lord and master at Longbourne estate, and the better of a wife she was, the more she saw to his comfort, and made his comfort her life's study, the better things were at Longbourne, for herself and her sisters. For their sake and safety, Jane found she could abide most anything.

Almost a decade of marriage had given Jane ample time to study the art of being the perfect wife. She had molded herself into the image he desired, but her soft, rebel heart refused to mold itself as well. She could not love her husband, though bound by God to do so, but in all other vows she was wholly obedient. But as she had shaped herself to his exacting standards, she had also learned him inside and out, and knew him perhaps better than he did himself. She could observe and interpret even the slightest tick on the otherwise blank canvass of his expression. As he shaped her, she learned to play him, how to increase his pleasure in any matter, how to address his ego, how to supplicant herself to his need for superiority, all to her advantage. He was a strong, hard-hearted man, yet somehow his wife always seemed to have her way.

With marriage, Jane had also learned that she was a beautiful woman. Her mother and father had always said she was a remarkably beautiful young girl, indeed everyone had remarked on the honey and milk pot Jane with her cornflower eyes, but to become a wife was to learn what power there was to be had in the beauty she had been gifted with. It did not take long for Jane to fully realize the full depth of her husband's appreciation of that beauty and it's charms. She was a dutiful wife in all ways, and learned married relations went a long way to soften her stern husband's attitude. For her sisters, Jane found she could abide most anything, and she used the little power she had to her best advantage.

Seeing him stand so proudly, Jane knew quickly to work on him and push this good humor as much as she could. "Good day to you, my dear husband. Join us, please." She smiled at him warmly, and rose out of the lovely wingback next to the hearth, indicating that he should sit down, as she lowered herself onto the lesser foot stool next to it. Her tone was soft and submissive, the obedient wife.

Looking up at him through her lashes, she allowed his gaze to sweep her person, as she knew it would. When she met his eyes, he crossed the room, taking his preferred seat with a smug satisfaction written deep within their grey depths. He was pleased indeed, and Jane thought that in such a moment he would be very likely to give consent to the Lucas's party. It was always an unknown question whether Mr. Collins would be in the humor to tolerate large social gatherings, and if he chose to abstain, it was expected of his wife and sister to do so as well.

Jane was very determined to get to Lucas Lodge. With the members of Netherfield's party having accepted the invitation, it would be the most likely chance for Mary to encounter either of the gentlemen again soon. Only frequent company could enhance the likelihood of either one from forming an attachment with her. Mrs. Collins was well aware that she was in control of no one's heart, being so incapable of making her own compliant, but she would do her best to move things to ideal conditions for courtships to form. For Mary's sake it was the least she could do - she had not given up her own youth so rapidly so that her sisters would give up theirs in service.

"Tell me, Sir, have the activities of your morning been met with success?" She inquired of him gently.

"Indeed they have, Mrs. Collins." He replied, his gruff voice and his northern accent harsh in the sunny parlor. "I do not believe any more complaints shall arise from that quarter."

"I am so glad to hear that, my dear." She demurred. Turning to the visitors she continued, "The ladies of Lucas Lodge have come to congress over the events of previous evening, as we women are ever eager to do. They have also issued us an invitation."

The last remark she addressed toward Lady Lucas, who, ever eager to have her say in a conversation, immediately issued a rejoinder. If she seemed to preen as she spoke to the Master of Longbourne, the Mistress did not care to notice. Her husband was not a young man, but he was certainly a handsome one, and many women, maid and matrons alike, were often discomposed or intimidated when speaking to him.

She looked toward him as the invitation was issued, and heard his polite but noncommittal reply. If he had a mind to do it, he would have outwardly declined, so the chances that he would acquiesce on the subject seemed favorable to Jane. His eyes met hers as he gave his answer, and though his face remained neutral throughout, Jane understood the situation for what it was quite immediately. Though he fully intended to grant her favor, the lord and master of Longbourne desired that his wife earn such considerations from her husband. He was in good spirits and prepared to be quite generous, but he expected to be rewarded for such magnanimity.

After the polite time for a morning call had passed, and the Lucas's had taken their leave, Jane turned to Mary, diligent with her stitching and said firmly, "Mary. Please go see to it that everything is in order for the dinner this evening, and then practice your new pieces for the party at Lucas Lodge. We have new company to impress with your talents."

Mary stood without a response, curtsied briefly to her guardian, and slipped out of the room. The door closed and Mrs. Collins felt her husband rise, the air in the room growing very tense. Mr. Collins bouts of extreme good humor could turn very rapidly to volatile anger. Jane had become an expert in tending to the flames of his personality, but when playing with fire it was very easy to be burnt. Every time she played this game with her husband, she knew she took a gamble, but Jane did it all the same.

He took her hand in his, and in his deep, solemn voice said, "I am very pleased with you, Mrs. Collins." His lips turned somewhat upward at the corners, in the dark mockery of a smile. "Very pleased indeed."

Jane met his grey eyes through dark lashes and smiled sweetly at him. For her sisters sake, she could abide most anything. And so to Lucas Lodge, they would go.


	4. CHAPTER THREE

**Author's Notes:** _Well, I honestly don't have an excuse for why I abandoned this story. I guess life got in my way a bit in 2016 and then I didn't have a working computer for the majority of 2017. I still have a very clear vision for where I'm taking this story, and I intend to finish it. I will not make any update promises that I can't honestly keep. Thank you so much for all the interest this story has received so far, your support has meant the world. I just can't help but love to play with these characters and examine them and it's so nice to have a community that's equally as fascinated with ODC. Please continue leaving your constructive criticism. It is greatly appreciated._

 _And finally, Chapter 3_

PS: I don't have a beta

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Some three or four miles down a country lane from Longbourne sat the house of Netherfield Park. It had once been the seat of a prominent family in the area, who's residence in the neighborhood had almost been as enduring as the Bennets'. However two generations prior, the young heir of the family had met with ill consequences while traveling from Hertfordshire to London and died without issue of his own. The property was willed to his young wife who gladly allowed the management of the estate to be in the control of her father. The original family of Netherfield continued to reside their until their deaths and it had subsequently been lent out since their passing.

It was an undeniably handsome estate, and kept in good repair by the owners with the aid of a stalwart steward and house keeper. An easy distance from London, fashionably appointed, and with a manageable amount of fruitful lands it was the ideal estate where an untried young man of six and twenty might try his hand at the life of a gentleman farmer. Certainly, that was what Charles Bingley had thought when he leased the place.

An easy going man, Charles was the sort of person inclined to being pleased under all circumstances in which he could be and then forgiving on those sad and rare occasion where he must not. No simpleton, Bingley had received a gentleman's education and complimented his learning with his bright, curious nature and sharp mind. However there were those among his acquaintance who felt that they must provide him with a prodigious deal of care, for his optimistic disposition was such as to always look for the best in everyone and everything, and this could sometimes lead to trouble.

It was this very care that brought Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire to the rolling hills of Hertfordshire. Darcy was far from hard hearted, but naturally reticent and inherently suspicious of strangers from a life time of study. He had been raised in a small, unvarying society of those relations and special friends considered worthy of the Darcy association. His only sibling was a younger sister, twelve years his junior and so he was often left to his own devices as a young man. The friendship between Darcy and Bingley was a strong and true bond. Bingley lightened Darcy and forced Darcy to expand his understanding of society, Darcy's level head and strong personality helped to keep Bingley steady and purposeful in his activities. It had only been natural that when considering an estate to lease and perhaps purchase that Darcy, almost six years into his role as master of a grand estate, would be by his friend's side for such an endeavor.

One friend naturally inclined to be pleased, while the other suspicious had lent itself to some rather varied opinions of their stay in the county thus far. They had been in the neighborhood almost a fortnight, and begun receiving callers almost as long ago as that. Bingley was greatly heartened by out pouring of welcome to the new community, Darcy wondered how precipitous such a welcome might have been had the new tenant been a family rather than wealthy bachelor and his more wealthy and equally unattached friend. Invitations to the upcoming assembly had been readily offered, not two full days after settling in the manor house. Regrettably, in Darcy's opinion, Bingley had accepted the invitations as speedily as they had been issued.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had expected the country assembly to be a tedious waste of an evening, as so many of them seemed to be. The cacophony of music and chatter filling the hall did not lend itself to much sensible conversation, and the taciturn Darcy found little to say in the course of a set. He despised standing up for a dance unless he was particularly acquainted with his partner. An assembly such as this one, in which he and his friends were to the be objects of the entire community's curiosity was an intolerable prospect.

The night had begun exactly as he had imagined it, the stares upon their arrival, the whispers that ripped through the room like wildfire, the fawning mothers and preening daughters. However, the night had taken an unexpected turn just past the first hour. They were introduced at last to the Collins family, the reported beauties of the county. Longbourne being the principal seat of the area they had already exchanged calls with the head of the family, but Mr. Collins had not seen fit to introduce his wife or charge to the gentlemen. They had heard many rumors of the ladies, little morsels of information from this new acquaintance or that.

Mrs. Collins was said to be formally Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourne, the eldest of several sisters to an estate entailed away from the female line. It seemed that the youngest of the girls had been sent away to school upon her marrying the heir to the estate, and the older sisters remained in the house under Mr. Collins' protection. There were also allusions that one of the sisters had gone away to seek a position that Darcy had caught briefly in passing…yet when this sister was brought up another had changed the conversation rapidly to another subject.

If there was one piece of information that did not disappoint it was in Mrs. Collins' sincere beauty. To say that Mrs. Collins was a remarkable visage was to do her a grave injustice. Bingley would later remark that he had found her to be positively angelic, and Darcy found even that glowing praise to be somewhat lacking. She cut a striking figure, fully figured but tall and lithe, thick honey gold hair elegantly arranged under a delicate lace cap. Her smiles were warm and inviting, her tone soft, sweet, her manners well bred and elegant but lacking affectation. Her cornflower blue eyes were lined by rich thick lashes that seemed to flutter with a mind of their own. Darcy was not a blind man, and while admiring, was not overcome. Bingley had become something of a besotted fool, and bemoaned his bad luck in her having a living and vigorous husband.

It was not Mrs. Collins who had grabbed Darcy's attention, it was her charge Miss Mary Bennet. He had not been sure at first what kept drawing his eye toward the young woman. She could not be more than twenty, and possibly younger still, she was so small and slender. Her skin was a stark, silky ivory that contrasted beautifully with the deep mahogany curls of her hair. She had strong features with a long thin nose and full lips which seemed to be set most often in a winsome sort of smirk. When he gave her his bow, he had seen her blue eyes assess him coolly, and been startled to feel a sense of indifference wash over him from her direction.

It had been Bingley and his gregarious nature who had instigated Darcy interacting with the Bennet girl for more than an introduction. He had stepped away from the floor after finishing a set with a local girl and strode toward his friend with purposeful, excited steps.

"Come Darcy!" The younger man cried, throwing his hands in the air with energy, "I must have you dance! I hate to see you standing about in this stupid manor!"

Darcy shook his head with a soft smile but his tone was firm. "I have already stood up once with each of your sisters, and you know it would be a punishment for me to stand up with any other woman present."

Bingley laughed a loud, his normally jovial nature heightened by an excess of company, good spirits, and dancing. He was practically ebullient when he snapped back, "Upon my honor, Darcy. I would not be as fastidious as you for a kingdom! I have never seen such an array of friendly people and pretty girls in my life."

"You have monopolized the attentions of the most beautiful woman in the room for half the evening. You are fortunate that Mr. Collins is not fond of dancing."

Bingley smiled widely and met his friends eyes unapologetically. "Mrs. Collins is an angel, there can be no second opinion on that score. Any man of sense must admire her, and she is a very kindly woman as well. Mr. Collins appears very fortunate in his choice of wife."

"Indeed Mrs. Collins seems to be a very fitting leader of society in this small town. Her manners were everything elegant and proper, your sisters may very well enjoy her companionship in the neighborhood."

"Look Darcy, there is Miss Bennet, her charge. They are sisters from what I understand of the local talk thus far. She is a very pretty girl and just as well mannered as her guardian. Ask her to dance."

Darcy had barely opened his mouth to speak when a confident feminine voice interrupted him. "Forgive me gentlemen, but I fear I must interrupt, your conversation is not as private as you may wish it to be." Mary Bennet's sky blue eyes turned toward them with a quizzical lift of her brow.

"Miss Bennet!" Charles sputtered, red faced in embarrassment. Bowing low to her he continued, saying, "Please pardon us if my friend and I have in anyway offended you."

The little lady gave her curtesy to them, her smirking lips pulling up at the corners as she turned her dancing eyes on him. "No apology is necessary Mr. Bingley, I seem to have forgotten I heard anything at all. I will return to my seat now, I am afraid I have had my fill of dancing for the evening, and am quite worn out." "Of course, Miss Bennet." The gentlemen bowed to her and she returned to her seat several feet away. As she stepped away the strains for the next set began to play, and clapping Darcy on the back, Bingley ran off to join his next partner. He had committed himself to every dance of the evening.

Darcy had continued to make his way around the room, nodding to those who looked his way but put forth no effort to engage with anyone at all. He heard snippets of conversation "two sets with Charlotte Lucas -". "Ten thousand a year! -" but could not focus on any particular one as his eyes continually sought out Miss Bennet from every vantage point across the room.

He could not call it an attraction for Darcy had felt passionate longing, had known the erotic pull of a woman's sweet smiles, and he did not feel drawn to her in such a way. She was not an unattractive young woman, but Darcy knew love, lust, and admiration and it was not those that he felt. Rather he was intrigued by her. Darcy was not sure if it was the sharp intelligence that shone through her clear blue gaze, or the way she chose to sit out the last half of the evening with an impatient look on her face and her fingers tapping. He felt an odd sense of comfort when his gaze would land on her, as if he was running into a very old friend. He felt she was altogether too familiar to him to be a stranger, yet knew with all his reason that they had just met. He felt nostalgic as he looked at her as if she was a member in a fleeting dream or pleasant memory.

Finally near the end of the evening, Darcy had navigated his way fully around the circuit and found himself standing by her again. He stood behind her, drinking in her slender ivory neck and the kiss of dark curls that danced along the nape of her neck as she tapped small feet to the time of the music. She was a graceful thing to look at, and Darcy found himself admiring her in a dispassionate way.

Suddenly, she turned in her seat, slender neck tilting her head at a jaunty angle. "Would you care to sit down, Mr. Darcy?" She asked with cool politeness.

So startled was he to find himself addressed by the very object of his study, he found himself at a loss for words. Her smirking lips twitched with stifled amusement. "Surely after so many laps around a ballroom even a healthy young man such as yourself might require a respite?" Soft white hands gestured toward one of the many empty seats near her.

"I thank you," Darcy replied, bowing with gravity. "no." His dark eyes met hers and could not help but be taken aback by the cold intelligence he discerned within them.

"As it pleases you, Mr. Darcy." She nodded, all politeness. "I suppose if Mr. Bingley has not yet tired out, it would make very little sense that you had."

She turned away from him then, craning her neck forward to watch the couples go by. Darcy was rooted to the spot, so surprised as he was to have been caught watching her. If her words had been said by another, said sweeter or with more humor, Darcy may have assumed this was another young woman who cared to flirt. Yet she was not a flirtatious young woman. If anything, Darcy had found her brusque and business-like. She was well mannered, and spoke with perfect civility, but there was an underlying severity in her tone and countenance that an observant man could not help but to study there.

He found himself sitting down.

Several long minutes passed, one set finished and the next began. Darcy attempted to keep his eyes on the dancers but they seemed to willfully disobey the edicts of his mind as he drank Miss Bennet in. He thought he might spend the night watching this young woman, and then she spoke to him once more - her tone bold, even quite possibly annoyed.

"Surely we must have some conversation, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy was surprised to be addressed by her yet again, and wondered at the propriety of being spoken to so directly. Yet they had been introduced, and he had been seated near her for several minutes now. He answered formally, "Do you speak as a rule then, when at an assembly Miss Bennet?"

"Indeed I do not, I take very little pleasure in the niceties, yet they must be observed for the preservation of society. It is a tedious task, but it is our duty to see it done. You may remark on the size of the room, and I shall comment on the number of couples."

Cynical Darcy could not help but crack a small smile, having felt similarly many times. He was in no humor to give consequence to young ladies who were slighted by other men, and had determined to remain aloof, but his quick wit could not be suppressed. He replied,"Having canvassed those topics, I suppose next I should compliment the musicians and you may…perhaps address the superiority of the refreshments offered here in comparison to another establishment."

Mary turned to look at him, her eyes brightened by the unexpected exchange. "With that said, we may return to our silent reveries. I believe we have exchanged all the necessary civilities." Her eyes smiled, but her lips did not.

Darcy nodded at her, his own lips twitching to keep back his laughter. It was an unexpected pleasure to meet a lady with some humor, caustic as it was. It had been a very long while since he had so much amusement in a conversation with the fairer sex…

Suddenly, a disconcerting notion struck him. The familiarity he felt, the bittersweet tug on his heartstrings, the way his eyes could not stop following her…she was familiar to him, too familiar at that. It had been almost two years since he had last seen her likeness, but there could be no mistaking it now that he recognized her. The long, thin nose and pert lips, the dark wild curls piled on Miss Bennet's head, he had seen them on another woman before, a woman that he had loved like no other.

It was more than likely coincidence, but Darcy could not settle the racing of his heart at the notion that he may be close to her in some way. Darcy had long ago realized that any actress of Covent Garden would have a stage name, was it so far fetched to imagine that Adelaide Bernard could be a relation of Miss Bennet's? He had always assumed that Adelaide had not been brought up high - had never thought that a gentleman's daughter might take to the stage. Perhaps she was a poor relation, or a sister born on the wrong side of the marriage bed.

The two were certainly not twins, he could attest to that. Miss Bennet was a very petite girl, almost doll like in comparison to Darcy's own tall and broad frame. His Miss Bernard had been much taller, with a lush figure. He had noticed her curves first when he had seen the now famous painting of her, The Laughing Venus, adorning the blue parlor of The Duke of _'s home. When he was introduced to her at the Covent Garden, he had thought that no painting could do justice to the elegant femininity of her form. The eyes were wrong as well - and Darcy privately thought that no other pair could be the same, green and honey gold and full of fiery passion, Miss Bennet held an icy blue pair, though her lashes were dark and thick in the same fashion.

Darcy looked at the girl, and wondered if he would have ever made the connection to Adelaide Bernard if not for Miss Bennet's biting wit. Adelaide had used words as her rapier and had cut more than one important man to size with her tongue. However, she was always so sweet, so arch, teasing and playful, that it was often impossible to find offense with her. Miss Bennet lacked that sweetness entirely, but the wit, the very obvious quickness of mind was present and made all the similarities between the two women even stronger.

Against his better judgement, Darcy spoke. "Has your family resided in Hertfordshire long, Miss Bennet?"

She seemed as surprised to be addressed by him as he had been by her own speech. "There have been at least six generations of Bennets residing in Longbourne, sir."

They fell silent again for a long moment. Darcy's curiosity was at war with his reticence. Eventually, curiosity won out and he asked what he had been longing to say. "I understand that Mrs. Collins is your elder sister, and Mr. Collins your father's heir. Have you any other siblings?"

Mary's eyes flashed in surprise at such a question. "I have several sisters." was her noncommittal reply.

"Indeed?" Darcy answered, attempting to keep his composure, "Please, tell me about them. It is very important for Bingley and myself to become well acquainted with all the principal families in the neighborhood."

And so the interrogation began.

vVvVvVvVvVvVv

Benito Forelli was not a young man. He felt the weight of each day that passed drape around his shoulders and settle on his bones. He was living on borrowed time, of that, he was certain. Scarlet fever had ravaged his body almost ten years prior, and Benito had been sure that his end had come. His last rite's had been read, and yet he lingered in agony for days floating between life and death.

When the fever had broken and he began to recover, he had wondered at God's plan for him. Why had his life been spared when so many younger and stronger people had fallen to the very same illness? He carried on with life, for what else was a man to do, but he felt listless and dispassionate.

Then one balmy spring morning a very flustered Michelson had approached him. There was a young woman calling, a very young woman, who claimed an acquaintance with him and demanded an audience. She had been turned away the day before, and today claimed that she would not be turned away, that she would starve herself outside the front door before she would leave the property. Michelson was a gentle sort, and did not have the heart to forcibly remove a woman hardly more than a child. He wrung his hands as he approached his master, unsure if he had made the right decision.

Forelli had been more amused and curious about such a to-do than anything else, and bid that she be admitted entrance. He walked into the parlor not knowing what to expect, and delighted at the prospect of a little mystery in the humdrum day.

Imagine his shock to discover that a fiery English rose, no more than fifteen had made her way alone to his door step. She was thinner than he recalled from the previous year, and certainly not as well kept as that delightful day he had sketched her in the factory.

"Signora Bennet," He had said with a charming smile, "how many I be of service to you on this lovely spring morning?"

"My name is Bernard," she spat, with a proud thrust of her chin, her speaking eyes flashing, "I have come to offer my services in your employ, if you will have me. I mean to be your model."

Forelli had known at that moment why God had spared him of the fever, why he continued to linger still on Earth years follow. He was meant to be the protector of that rare English flower, for hers had perished. In return, she served as his inspiration, his muse, and he soon came to love her as he had never loved anyone. It was a fatherly love, for she was just a girl, but in his heart Forelli knew that if he had been a younger man, if circumstances had been different, she would have captured him body and soul. She had that power, even then, little more than a child, to arrest a man with her passion. She was a soul that could not be contained by the constraints of society - an artist's temperament through and through.

It had begun with the offer of tea, which had subsequently become an offer to stay for supper. His soft inquiry had found that the girl had nowhere to sleep that night, the Aunt and Uncle he had met the year before were no longer an option to her. She would not explain the situation to him at first, but when he began to make plans to return her to her the protection of her family in Cheapside, her distress was so great that Forelli had forced her to explain herself.

She told him that she was ruined - that her parents were dead and that she had been cast out by her guardian because her reputation was sullied. She had little more than the clothes on her back and a small pittance of money which Forelli was almost positive she had stolen. She had come to him because she remembered how fascinated he had been by her, how aggravated he was that he did not have the luxury of time too capture her likeness with more accuracy. She said it had been a fool's errand to come, but she had nowhere else to go in this strange city, no other family to turn to. If Forelli would not hire her, she would seek employment as a servant.

Benito Forelli was a man of the world, learned, well-travelled, supported by wealthy patrons who appreciated his skill. He was an artist in every sense of the word, and had lived his life fully, enjoying both the philosophical rhapsodies of exploring life's highest meanings while also indulging all of his most base instincts. He was no fool - and he knew that an unprotected young woman, hardly more than a child, with not a schilling to her name, with no skills and no character reference would not end a servant in a respectable employ. If she did not die on London's violent streets, she would quickly find herself work in a whore house, the madams of London always had eyes on the streets looking for desperate young girls such as herself, especially one so lush and ripe.

His invitation to dine had soon turned into an invitation to stay the night, he could not in good conscious send her on the streets again. He had only one guest bedroom that was fit for company, for the other family rooms had been turned into studios for his work, as he lived alone. The next day that invitation had become one to stay a week, and rapidly from there a month to forever. He would not pay her a wage, but called her his guest, and saw to it that she received some new clothing fit to wear in the home. In return for his kindness, she would sit for him as he often as he wished to study her.

She was bright, perhaps one of the brightest young people Forelli had ever had the pleasure of meeting. She had only wanted for a furthering of her education, for opportunity to harness such intelligence and give it a proper direction. As much as Forelli enjoyed painting her, with her fine eyes and strong features, he found equal delight in educating Adelaide as well. He mixed with an eclectic set of bright minds and grand ideals, and exposed to such superior intellectual company, Adelaide rapidly flourished. By his own hand she was taught to draw with some skill, and by calling in favors of dear friends, she had the opportunity to study language, to train her singing voice, to become a true proficient at the piano-forte. She did not always take to her lessons, for like many young people the vigilant practice required to command any subject became tiresome very quickly. Yet she would deny Forelli nothing in her gratitude for his protection, especially when he teasingly told her that submitting to these lessons was her payment for room and board.

As Forelli looked on her now, standing elegant and poised in a room full of peers, he felt very blessed that he had been granted a few extra years on this Earth. He had been ready to slip away, but seeing the thin, feisty slip of a girl rise to her full potential was worth the pain of slowly aging. Dinner had been a grand a success, as Forelli had known it would be. The Matlocks had long been supporters of the arts in England. He had painted each of their son's portraits and dined with them once already. Lady Matlock was the true society leader of the family, an influential patroness of Alack's and one of the most well coiffed and handsome women Forelli had met. Her dinner parties were well known for their elegance, as well as the company that presided. Lady Matlock always made sure to have a proper mix of important society and people of interest to create stimulating and diverting evenings.

The evening's entertainment was on a somewhat more intimate scale than some of her Ladyship's more grand offerings. It was a table of one dozen, Forelli and Adelaide included. His Lordship presided over the head of the table, with the Duke of Essex in the seat of honor beside him. The Duke and Duchess were newly-weds when the old Duke had died, and only recently gone into half-mourning and begun to go out in society again. The Earl had been on intimate terms with his father. There was also the honorable Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom Adelaide and himself were both previously acquainted with, Mr. Reginald Ashbury, and his unmarried twin daughters, Eugenia and Clara Ashbury.

The Miss Ashburys, ardent fans of the theatre, were beyond thrilled to make the acquaintance of Miss Adelaide Bernard. She was no Sarah Siddons to be sure, but the young women were of the opinion that Miss Bernard could very well be on her way to the same greatness, and were eagerly informing her of such over their cordials post-meal.

"It is my greatest loss to have never seen Mrs. Siddons perform as Lady Macbeth - although we were able to attend a reading she did two years ago, and it was of all things delightful. She has such power in her voice, such passion - we were reminded of it greatly in your performance of Ophelia, Miss Bernard." Miss Eugenia turned toward her sister who was eagerly adding her affirmation.

"Indeed, Miss Bernard! My sister and I were moved to tears by your performance, and Ophelia is normally such a tepid, changeable creature…you quite made her Hamlet's equal!"

Adelaide ducked her head, a becoming blush gracing her cheeks. "I thank you, you are very generous in your praise. I beg of you though - please, do not put me in contrast to the incomparable Mrs. Siddons! For the sake of my own fragile vanity, I could not stand it. Can there be another like her? Do I dare presume to try?" The last was said with a playful smile.

"It is a brave man who follows in the footsteps of a legend, Miss Bernard." Forelli watched keenly as Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger song of Lord and Lady Matlock crossed the drawing room to join in their conversation. "I imagine that the following in the footsteps of Lord Nelson was no small feat as well."

Adelaide and the Miss Ashburys laughed, the sound light and melodic. "No one alive can deny your bravery, Miss Bernard, or yours of course, Colonel." Miss Clara spoke, "I could no more dream of performing on stage than I could of rushing into battle. They are both equally beyond my capabilities."

Lady Matlock interjected then, her commanding voice guiding the conversation along. "It seems that there are as many forms of bravery as moments in time, or perhaps bravery is a matter of the individual's perspective. A thespian such as Miss Bernard must delight in being on the boards, not afraid of it."

Miss Clara seemed abashed for a brief moment, but rose to the occasion, she had not been brought up in the first circles of society for nothing after all. "Your Ladyship brings up a very valid point. Is bravery the act of doing anything one might consider a bold action, or is bravery the act of doing the one action that is most feared by the individual in spite of those fears? Can one be considered brave without first being afraid?"

Miss Bernard smiled in a becoming manner. "I do not think that either example signifies to one clear answer. Do I believe the absence of fear necessitates the presence of bravery? That is always a possibility, and yet it could very well signify a profound foolishness instead. However I do not think that one must truly fear something before taking a brave action - for instance, some of the more daring colors the ladies are wearing this season…were we afraid of orange and chartreuse in previous years, or simply taking brave and bold steps to set new fashions?" The laughter of those attending her conversation trickled through the room with the saucy lift of her brow. She continued, adding, "I do believe that most people carry at least some small degree of self preservation with them at all times. Even the most confident performer and the most capable soldier must carry some trepidation - to do otherwise would mark a worrisome loss of common sensibilities. Do you not agree Colonel?"

The Colonel inclined his head toward the actress in acknowledgment. "Any sensible man has felt fear, and many fools are exemplary examples of courage."

"I wonder than Miss Bernard," Lady Matlock queried to her guest, "what sort of bravery do you possess to take on the role of Juliet now? It is no small undertaking to be sure."

Forelli laughed, deep and warm, pleased to see that the Lady's keen humor did not disappoint. There was nothing he enjoyed more than intelligent company that provided lively conversation. It was in drawing rooms such as these where all the greatest minds and the cleverest of scenes of society's foibles came to play. Watching his charge, his darling girl, so elegant and poised, so fitting in this grand society brought joy and inspiration to him. With the charm only a foreigner and an artist could so possess, he joined the fray, "Perhaps, your Ladyship - Miss Bernard is a fool."

The Miss Ashburys appeared somewhat alarmed, but Adelaide's tickling laughter quickly assuaged any affront. "My dearest friend may attest to that fact - I am a fool, indeed, for we are all fools in love, and I have found my deepest love is the stage."

She could feel the Colonel's gaze assessing her before he spoke. "I am finding that soldiery and play-acting have more similarities than differences. I do not know a solider alive who would not say that the army is his first love - all other passions come second to serving King and country."

"There is one key difference between us Colonel." Adelaide replied, "A soldier can not entertain his hosts and company in a drawing room with his prowess on the battlefield."

The Earl broke his conversation with the Duke and Duchess to intercede. "Indeed, Richard, you can not argue the point with the good lady on that subject. Tales of the battlefield can make for excellent conversation at the club, but certainly not in mixed company such as this. I am longing for some entertainment, if the ladies present would be so kind as to oblige an old man?"

Lady Matlock was swift to arrange the young women to perform. The Miss Ashburys performed one duet with great skill and sweet charm and one piece each alone, the Duchess, being in half mourning, was permitted to be excused - "a great pity, there is no one who plays the harp with more credit" - and finally, it was Adelaide's turn to perform.

The actress stood with natural fluid grace and crossed the room to stand in front of the piano forte. "I am very sorry to disappoint or disoblige my gracious hosts, but I am afraid I can not perform as Juliet for you this evening - I beg you would excuse me on that score. Our rehearsals have only just started, and I could not perform the role with the credibility I so desire. Instead I will recite for you one of my favorite sonnets, something to catch the mood of my upcoming artistic endeavors." She smiled charmingly, her hazel eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

It was at that moment Adelaide caught the Colonel's eye, watching her with the polite visage of a casual acquaintance. They had been friends once, two years prior, but her rift with him had caused a natural rift to occur with the good Colonel as well. Adelaide found that she could not be bitter at the loss of the Colonel's friendship, it was only fitting that he should be protective of a cousin he viewed as more of a brother - she would be equally as guarded in the protection of her own family. Yet still, she found that the coldness of his address rankled…was she to be forever despised for something that had caused her enormous pain as well?

It had not been easy to turn away from such passionate regard, no matter how belittling and improper Mr. Darcy's address had been, yet she could not regret her choice. Clearly Darcy had carried much bitterness over the rejection of his suit, for though he had not publicly slandered her, the easy camaraderie she had shared with Colonel Fitzwilliam, their mutual acquaintance, remained severed. She had mourned the loss of his friendship as well as Darcy's. The hard glint in his eyes, buried beneath a life time of excellent breeding, was possible only for a studier of character such as herself to uncover. While no one could fault his manners, it was obvious to Adelaide that his resentment was an ever-fixed mark in his mind. Would he speak to his parent's against supporting Adelaide's next project? To have the backing of the Matlocks was truly imperative - to support new, bold, playwrights was a gamble few were willing to take - if she could but have the Matlock's endorsement would pave the way to much more support.

Oh! It was not to be borne. She had never set out to make any man fall in love with her, and certainly not to break his heart in rejection. She could not control that she was not at liberty to marry…women had such little control over their own lives before they came of age, and Adelaide had been three long years away from such freedom at the time of Darcy's disastrous proposal. To seek her guardian's consent was an impossibility that Mr. Darcy could never have understood, had she been willing to accept such an address…which of course she had not been. Was her life always to be beholden to the power of men!?

A rueful smile lightly graced Adelaide's lips before she began - between men and women, one had all the appearance of power and the other all the source of it - if she must soften the cold Colonel's heart to her benefit, she would use all her feminine wiles to do so. Inspiration struck, the artist's genius rising when she needed it most.  
Casting her startling eyes toward the floor, one hand elegantly draped along the piano forte she began a much different sonata than the one she had rehearsed -

"When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,  
I all alone beweep my outcast state -

Her tone was dulcet, yet rich with restrained pain. Adelaide had always found that calling her hurt to the surface was remarkably easy to do - and seeing past the elegant drawing room and the sparkling glitter of guests in their finery, she allowed herself to become lost in memories while the Bard's words moved her through the journey.

"And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself and curse my fate, "

She swayed with the cadence of the words, her soft hand trailing along the piano forte in an absent minded caress. She allowed herself to be pulled further in to the familiar words, the comforting pain, and sensed that her audience began to be pulled into that same darkness with her. Her eyes glimpsed Colonel Fitzwilliam through a bevy of lashes… and her heart called to him as she spoke, urging him to feel as she did.

"Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,  
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,  
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,  
With what I most enjoy contented least; "

The room faded away as Darcy's visage came blinking into her mind's eye. Oh he had been something of a fool in his address, but she could not remember him without some fondness. His affection had not been the work of a few weeks, but the duration of an entire season in very active company together. In another world, another life, he would have been the exact sort of gentleman she might have wanted to marry - but that life was closed to her - could the good Colonel not understand the pain that had been her burden to bare in refusing him? Surely he must feel it now, after all this time.

Quite unconsciously, Adelaide's powerful eyes called Colonel Fitzwilliam's to meet hers as she spoke. They were mournful pools of luminescent brown, drowning her audience into the depth of her sorrow. The room had grown very still in the power of her emotion, the tension rising incrementally with each line. As she neared the conclusion of her little speech, she quite forgot herself entirely.

"Remember him." Her heart called firmly, "You must remember him." And she did. Indeed, she could not forget him, though two years had passed. She remembered the slight upturn of his lips when he tried to conceal an improper laugh, she saw his dimples twinkle at her when he allowed himself a full grown smile, heard the timber of his rich voice caress her ears. She allowed those memories to warm her, to bolster her, to remember the past only as it's remembrance gave her pleasure. "You were loved once," her heart hummed with joy, "no matter what else becomes of you, once, you were truly loved. You mattered."

The warmth of that memory infused the finale of her sonata, just as she had known it would. She felt it fill her voice, sensed the thankful joy of love remembered kiss her skin, move her feet and guide her hands…and finally, finally, touch her eyes and spill towards her audience, saying all the words that the Bard could not find himself.

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,  
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,  
Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;  
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

A heavy, pregnant silence filled the drawing room with the conclusion of her speech. Each guest seemed unwilling or unable to break the spell that been cast. Forelli felt the same rush of both unadulterated pride and euphoric joy he always experienced when witnessing Adelaide perform her art at her best. That he was a part in that talent, however small! Looking around the room, he saw the way his hostess's eyes glittered in the candlelight, and knew that his darling girl had triumphed once again.

"Oh Miss Bernard!" Miss Eugenia Ashbury breathily punctuated the silence, pulling a handkerchief to her eyes. "Oh my!"

The room then broke into enthusiastic applause, always the most true testament to the skill of an actress. Adelaide accepted their praise with curtsies filled with humility and good humor, begging to take her seat again and let others perform. However, Lady Matlock had little interest in being entertained in the usual methods when such an example of artistry was before her. Only hearing from Adelaide would now satisfy her, and the actress answered this call with mild-mannered aplomb.

The evening passed in this pleasant fashion for some time following and did not draw to a close until just past the fashionable hour. Lady Matlock was full of grand ideas to help promote Miss Bernard's run as Juliet, and engaged with the maestro in heated tete-a-tete as master and pupil awaited their carriage. Seeing her unencumbered, Colonel Fitzwilliam took his opportunity to speak freely to his former friend.

"You are as enchanting as I recalled you, Miss Bernard." He said, not unkindly.

She dipped her head in acknowledgement, a slight hint of girlish pink dancing across her cheeks. "You are very kind, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I am very pleased to see you again, and in such good health. When we last met, it was under much more grim circumstances."

He nodded calmly, his plain face set in an unreadable mask of civility. "Has it been two years entirely since we last met?"

"No," she answered, just a touch too quickly, "it was at the end of the season that we last met, not the beginning…I believe it must have been April at least."

A flicker of interest flashed in the Colonel's eyes, "Indeed madam, you are quite right. I seem to recall that time in much better detail now."

Adelaide recognized that he was assessing her, and could not help but squirm somewhat under the scrutiny of his gaze. She forced a light laugh before she spoke, she was an actress after all. "Tell me Colonel, were your friends all in good health when last you met?" Her tone remained even, but the rose of her countenance made it clear to them both who she enquired of.

"Yes, all in excellent health." He answered with a significant look. "Though it has been some months since I have met with most of my friends. Our mutual acquaintance spends the little season in Hertfordshire, at a friend's estate, I expect that he will be in Town shortly enough."

It was then that the Colonel witnessed a sight of which few others could boast. The actress's face paled considerably, and no amount of thespian talent could erase the fact that he had seen her become quite discomposed. Her speaking eyes came alive with their golden highlights, nerves jolting them into a brightened alertness. She looked positively frightened, though the Colonel was too well bred to dare make that observation to the lady herself.

"Mr. Darcy resides in Hertfordshire? She answered, wringing her small hands together.

"Indeed, he stays there in aid of a friend who has recently leased an estate - I can not recall if you are acquainted - Mr. Bingley, is the gentleman's name…the estate I believe is called, Netherhall, or Hallfied…something to that effect. Darcy means to assist his friend in establishing residency at his first estate before joining us in Town for the holidays."

"Netherfield Hall." The words escaped her lips quite of their own accord.

"Yes quite right! Netherfield. I take it you are acquainted with the area Miss Bernard?" Colonel Fitzwilliam did not take care to conceal his interest in Miss Bernard's admission - it was perhaps the most he had heard her speak of a spot that was not in London.

Adelaide remained pale, but she regained her equanimity enough to speak in her usual teasing manner. "Yes, I spent some time there before I took to a professional stage. It is a very easy distance from Town."

Just as the Colonel was about to reply, Signor Forelli's carriage arrived on the drive, and Fitzwilliam family was obligated to bid their guests goodnight. The pair boarded their equipage with very mixed emotions, triumph, pride, anxiety, exultation, all bandied together, but the most palpable of all was unmitigated fear.

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Obviously the sonnet used does not belong to the author. Please review with constructive criticism. I appreciate all feedback. Hope you are enjoying this story of (kinda obvious) intrigue!


	5. CHAPTER FOUR

**Author's Notes:** _Wow. Just wow. I am truly overwhelmed by the amount of response, (overwhelmingly positive response!) that the last chapter garnered. I'm sure that many other writers will join me in saying how humbling a feeling it is to know that other people enjoy the words that live in your head. I also am thoroughly enjoying the questions being posed, the different theories you all have! You've given me a lot to think about, and I'm going to do my best to give you all the answers throughout the story._

 _Question for my readers: This chapter is very short. As in, less than half of the previous posting. I have started on the next chapter, which was going to originally be the 2nd half of this. I'm just having a hard time finding the flow and balance between the two scenes I want to portray. Would you guys rather see shorter updates with more frequent postings, or longer chapters that you can really sink your teeth into? I didn't want to make you guys wait another week while I hammered out the rest of the chapter, especially since this scene has a strong finish. If you have an opinion, feel free to share it._

 _Thanks so much!_

* * *

"Adelaide, hold your pose." The words were quick and sharp, said as a command and not as a suggestion.

The maestro was sketching furiously at his easel, scraps of parchment littering the floor around him. Adelaide bristled with annoyance, trying to refrain from releasing an exasperated sigh. Benito Forelli was the dearest person in the world to her, indeed, the only person she could truly call dear left to her; however that did not mean that he never tried her nerves. He knew very well how exhausting it was to put on the little display she had done for the Matlocks, and he must have heard her complain of her stays enough to know she longed to escape the confines of her finery to something far more comfortable. Yet when inspiration struck, no reasonable argument could deter the artist. She had placed herself into his power as his model, she was not within her rights to deny him. Yet, she truly was very tired, physically as well as emotionally. Working for one's living did not come free of tribulation.

"Padre" She said with gentle resignation, "perhaps we should post-pone until morning, when you have the light."

The artist did not look away from his work. "The light?" He snapped, "what use have I for light? No little dove, it shall not do! The morning sun drowns out even the brightest of stars of the night sky with it's amber glow. I can not risk that it will erase the glitter of sorrow in your eyes at this very moment. No, no, only now will do. Now hold still, keep those fine eyes to the window pane."

"Very well," she answered in a clipped tone. "Shall we stay up until dawn, do you think?"

The wizened head of the Italian raised, and his liquid black eyes glittered mockingly in the candlelight. "Perhaps you and I shall stay in this room until this painting is complete - we shall not sleep, eat, or drink until I have a masterpiece in front of me. You may wither away in my pursuit of beauty, but you will be immortalized forever in such a piece of art. I can already see the mountains of ticket sales that such a grand exhibit would garner from the Ton."

She laughed aloud then, a sound that always delighted Forelli for it's pleasant resonance, but this evening it was another source of vexation. He was generally a soft-hearted man, but not when it came to his work. He was renowned artist after all - and that came with an artist's sensibilities and eccentricities.

"You, Miss Bernard, are the only creature alive that can laugh so freely through a heart filled with pain. Until I discover the mystery behind that ability, until I unravel the dark secrets of the eyes that have enraptured the nation, little else will sustain me. You must have known this would happen the moment you were handed into the carriage this evening. You may conceal from others what can never be kept from he who knows you best! Was it the Matlocks who discomposed you so? Or was it the good Colonel and all the memories that come attached with him? You began the evening in tolerably good spirits and ended it quite differently. Did you think you could hide such a thing from me? Those eyes are your undoing once more! Such sad, frightened eyes child. And yet, you laugh! I must capture you in such a moment! "

Adelaide could not hold her pose when presented with such a stinging truth. She turned toward her mentor, those speaking eyes glistening with tears that would remain unshed. "Please, darling Padre, I beg of you…" She choked back a sob, always determined to retain her dignity, to keep her privacy.

His head was bent toward his work once more. "My poor little dove," he tutted gently, eyes fixated on the paper before him. "it must be a very weary life, carrying a burden such as yours. I wonder that it must be yours to carry alone."

Adelaide was a passionate creature. Her very real and rational fear of secrets uncovered, in combination with the wearing act of courting her social superiors for small favors meant she had little room in her heart left for patience or civility, especially at such an unseemly hour. It was not the first, nor would it be the last, time that Forelli had prodded into her past. He had never been fully satisfied with the tale of an orphan of a large family who had been taken advantage of by a local man and then cast from her home in shame.

Adelaide hated that he was right. She hated that her story was too dark to tell, too complicated for an outsider to understand. In that moment she hated darling Forelli for never letting her past remain buried. What other choice did she have now? A woman such as herself had no resources to pursue justice, and no power to enact vengeance. All she could do was escape - to carve out a new life for herself, and patiently wait for the day she reached her majority and the bonds of her past life were severed forever. If only her heart could acquiesce to the demands of her mind! No matter how deeply she delved into the life of Adelaide Bernard, thespian and artistic muse, the memories of her youth haunted her at every turn.

It had been almost seven years, and the pain of separation was as poignant as the day she had left. She had learned to ignore the stirrings of her heart strings, to set aside her unpleasant youth and look unblinkingly into the future. Yet those memories always simmered, just beneath the surface, ready to boil over whenever she was willing to call them forward.

Oh, how she longed for them! Her dear mother, who had always been a flighty creature, and impossibly indulgent. The little boy that had taken her with him to the grave, the boy who might have saved them all! Darling Papa! Papa with his bright blue eyes, always twinkling with some little piece of mischief, his dry wit and sly smiles. Everyday she wished to be a girl again, when her family had been hale and whole, to sit with her father in his study and breathe in the familiar scents of home and security.

Her younger sisters had been so small when she left home…did they remember her at all? Sweet, rambunctious Lydia with her golden curls and honey eyes was a young woman now, older even than Adelaide had been when she left them all. Was she out in society? Did she still giggle as had as a girl at six, or was she a serious young lady now? Little Kitty, always so wide-eyed and quiet, small for her age yet with eyes that seemed older, what had those eyes seen by now? Pedantic Mary, perpetually stuck in the middle of all the happy chaos of so large a family, seeking refuge in music. Did she still play with such passion? Had she improved since those days?

All her memories of her family pained her, but none as much as thoughts of Jane. Jane, the eldest, the bravest, the best of them all. Jane who had done the impossible to keep her family together; Jane who had given up all thoughts of herself and her own future for the security of her sisters. Jane who Adelaide had betrayed when she carried another name, in another life. Jane who had put herself in the power of a monster - not a man, to keep her sisters together. Gentle Jane who had received abuse and punishment for Adelaide's own transactions. Was she well? Did she suffer at the hands of the animal that was her husband? Did she still have any of her soft-hearted kindness left? Was she a mother now? Was there any respite from her misery? Could she forgive her?

Adelaide looked toward the man who protected her from the harsh realities of a penniless orphan's life in London. There were so many different paths a story such as hers could have taken. Her life of art, music, glittering parties, and tedious company seemed the most unlikely story of them all, and yet there she sat, posing for her artist. Tears smattered at her thick lashes, but she would not allow them to fall. She squared her shoulders, tilted her head just-so toward the window and stared out toward the night sky, knowing that some miles away, sat the home of her youth, her estranged sisters within it. "I do not carry my burden alone." she whispered.

Forelli's charcoal stilled in his hand. He drank in the site of her, his English rose, and felt all the brutishness of his artistic passion. She was a young woman now, cradling the weight of the child she never had the chance to be. The velvet caress of moonlight slipping across her profile accentuated every tired nuance of her countenance in a silver glow.

"Go to bed." He said gruffly, shame filling his breast.

She rose with quiet elegance, her skirts rustling softly. "Thank you Signore." She said with a gentle touch to his shoulder.

He looked up and met the eyes that arrested him so. Such sad eyes, but they looked on him with warmth now.

"Thank you, for…" Adelaide took in a deep breathe, gesturing listlessly toward the dark expanse of the studio. "… simply everything."

Benito Forelli had no wife, and no children. He'd known many women in his youth, but had remained as discrete as possible in order to preserve the reputations of all involved. If any progeny of his existed, no one had seen fit to inform him of it. He had spent most of youth so devoted to his craft that he had little time for any other pursuit, and now in the twilight of his life, Adelaide was the only family he had. Every night, he felt the day past lay upon his shoulders, adding another layer of time to his heavy funeral shroud. He was an old man. He was Adelaide's family as much as she was his, and thought of leaving her alone in such a world were insupportable.

"My dear child," He said softly, grasping the soft hands hanging before him, "Never thank me - the trials of your life, whatever misery you have endured, well…they have been the Almighty's greatest blessing in mine. I should not be so thankful that Providence brought you to me, I should have been asking the Lord to let his prodigal daughter return to her home."

A sob caught in Adelaide's throat, and she grasped the hands of the dear old man tightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but the artist continued saying, "I am not a young man, my dear. In fact, I was an old man when you were a child. You do not live as many years as I do, you can not make a living of studying the faces of others, and remain unable to read the face of a child. Precocious as you were, my dear, I have always known that the day you arrived on my doorstep, you fed me a series of lies. I have no way of knowing what the truth of your story is, only you can reveal such a secret. I have never begrudged you this fiction for my own sake, I only worry for you. It was always very clear to me that before me was an extraordinarily frightened child. Not just defiantly angry, not just trapped in mourning, but truly afraid. I could not help but wish to protect you, but I can not protect you from your own heart."

Adelaide always knew that Forelli was skeptical of her tale of woe - but she had always assumed him to simply be a cynic. Instead, he was perhaps the most adroitly empathetic man she would ever know. He was an angel on Earth to her. With his words, Adelaide's resolve began to crumble. She was so very tired. Her heart lost itself in her memories, and she could no longer bare to support herself on her own. She leaned into the man that had raised her from girl to woman, and allowed herself the comfort of fatherly embrace. It had become too much - the anniversary of her father's death, so recently past, accentuated with the knowledge that Mr. Darcy resided just a few short miles from her childhood home! Her eyes burned, and her dark lashes glittered as they bristled against the current of tears that threatened to spill. The old man gathered her in his arms, murmuring softly as one would to a small child.

Time faded away in the security of a loving embrace. Adelaide steadied herself with deep breaths as the Italian cooed to her in his home tongue. The angry beating of her heart began to calm with each breath. Her birthday was just a few short months away. She was so very close to reaching her majority, and then she could truly live free. Mr. Darcy being in Hertfordshire was a frightening prospect, but was she truly not made of sterner stuff than this? She had spent six long years as a pillar of strength, the marble cast of her resolve standing rigid and proud. Mr. Darcy had discomposed her once with his offer of marriage to someone as "lowly' as herself - she could not allow him to rattle her nerves again! Whatever he discovered in the quiet town of Meryton, whatever family he may visit with…it was none of her concern. Adelaide Bernard was not known to the inhabits of that little slice of country. If he was to discover the truth - what would it be to him? Their connection had been severed for close to two years.

Her musings were interrupted as the artist pulled the girl away. "My sweet little dove." He said softly. "I know that you will not confide in me. I have always known it, however it was my dearest wish that you will find someone to share your heart with. You are not meant for the isolation you have entombed yourself in."

"One day," she said softly, "I promise you…I will tell you all. The whole truth of it."

"Yes," he replied, a tired sadness in his voice, "one day you may." He stood, giving Adelaide his arm. The hour was truly very late, the young and the old both needed their rest.

He escorted her down the hall, walking together in companionable silence. When they reached the door of her chambers, he paused and said with a sigh. "I know your name is not Adelaide Bernard."

The actress squared her shoulders, and looked at her mentor unblinkingly. "I realized long ago that you suspected as much, but you have never pried."

"I believe each man has a right to his own destiny. The Almighty in his wisdom gave us free will, did he not? However, my solicitor does not agree."

"Your solicitor, Signore?"

"Such complicated matters. He tells me there is a very real possibility that my will could be over-turned in court as it is written. There is very little precedent to leaving one's bequests to a stage name after all."

A small gasp escaped Adelaide before she could gain her control. "You must not speak so! And you must not think of leaving anything to me! You have many years left, Padre. When you pass, I will be very well established and able to care for myself, you have seen to that! I am no mercenary, I have never desired your fortune, just the opportunity to find my way in the world."

He chuckled lightly and patted her hand. "Such an easy confidence in your future! I have always admired your optimistic spirit, my dear. Life has been very cruel to you, and yet you are determined that the future shall bend to your whims despite all the evidence to the contrary. We both know that there is no telling what fate may have in store for us. I have every faith in your abilities to see you through any hardship. If you could survive the streets of London alone barely out of the school room, you will surely manage the tribulations of adulthood with aplomb. However, my fortune is mine to do with what I will. The choice is mine to make, and while you may attempt to deny me this right by denying me your name…you would be doing me a grave injustice."

She was very quiet, and very grave when she replied. "It is a name I have not uttered in more than six years."

Forelli smiled wryly. "Yet it still belongs to you, even after all this time."

The actress took a fortifying breath. Forelli watched her eyes as she rapidly debated her options. It was a long moment, one that seemed to stretch out over days and into weeks, but as time came back into focus, Adelaide met his steady gaze with eyes as bright and clear as any he'd ever seen.

"Bennet." She stumbled somewhat on the first syllable, but recovered with a pointed strength. "My name is Elizabeth Bennet."

Forelli bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Good evening to you, Miss Bennet. May you rest easy."

Elizabeth smiled then, and a small piece of weight began to lift away from her. She let the contentment sharing her name raised flow through her. She had forgotten how comforting it was to trust her burdens into the care of a loved one. She had been alone for so long. Looking at the old man, a warm affection washed over her. She kissed his brow with a daughter's tenderness. "My family has always called me Lizzy."

The artist smiled back. "It suits you, little Lizzy."

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 **Author's Notes:** Not exactly a shocking revelation, since you guys seemed to figure it out pretty quick. But I promise, that's just the first part of of the tale ;)


	6. CHAPTER FIVE

**Author's Notes:** _Welp, I suppose it's time for your yearly update on this tale right!? I kid, mostly. I actually_ _have the next chapter almost complete and waited to post this one until I was more than halfway done the next so that I don't torture anyone still reading with a ridiculous gap between the next update batch. I've moved 4 times in 14 months and didn't have a working computer for most of 2017, which are very simplistic ways of saying working on my story wasn't a top priority and I apologize for that. I hope you guys keep reading and reviewing, because honestly nothing gives an author life like hearing that feed back._

 _Next chapter will be much heavier in dialogue and forward plot progression. This one resides primarily in Mrs. Collins head. Some of the situation at the end of the chapter may make readers uncomfortable. Please be mindful of my warning on the story in description. I will not interrupt the flow of the story with trigger warnings, and I don't think what I've written necessitates it, but please reach out if you believe the rating should be upped. I'm not interested in writing descriptive violence, but we have to make our villain be a villain._

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Deft fingers pulled the stitches of a delicate lace cap loose once again. Mrs. Collins ran her hands along the fine piece of fabric, looking for any imperfections. Jane was no stranger to the cap, she had, of course, grown up seeing many married women sport the fashion. She simply had never anticipated that she would have donned it herself so very young. A sixteen year old girl was still simply just as described, a girl, a debutante first beginning the transition into womanhood - but Jane had been wearing her cap since a few brief months past that birthday. Now, she had been wearing one for the better part of a decade. In quiet moments such as this one, when her husband was out of the house and the servants well instructed and perfectly occupied, her sister reading in a quiet corner, Jane could sometimes indulge in the fantasy that she was still a girl herself.

And if she was still Miss Bennet, rather than Mrs. Collins, what pleasant reverie would occupy her thoughts in such a moment? It was a game she played with herself very rarely, for the sweetness of her fantasy could easily make the reality of her situation all the more unpleasant. She had many things to be thankful for, after all. She had been blessed with a strong constitution, a quick mind, and a gentle heart. She had a roof over her head, a roof that sheltered almost all that Jane dearly loved. She had sisterly companionship, friendly neighbors, and the quiet pursuits of country living. Her lot in life was not a bad one, and surely choosing the alternate route…to reject her husband and lose her childhood home, it could not have been a better outcome for her or her sisters.

Yet if Jane had remained Miss Bennet, she imagined her excitement for the coming ball at Netherfield would be palpable. Mr. Bingley and his sisters had come around with their card to personally deliver the invitation. Mr. Collins had been extremely pleased at this display of deference, believing it his due as the Master of Longbourne, and Jane had encouraged that notion. Quietly, she thought it a vain idea, as Miss Bingley has made it very clear that they had also done so for the Lucas family. She wanted to believe it was for Mary's benefit, but her heart could not reconcile that idea with her mind. While Mr. Bingley was perfectly solicitous to the current Miss Bennet, the warm looks of admiration he often sported seemed to be directed at the former.

Oh! He was a proper gentleman, there could be no debate on that score! However, there was a heat in his gaze when he met her eyes that Jane was very familiar with. Most men she encountered coveted her to some small degree or another, it was their natural reaction to her famed beauty. Was it vanity on her part to recognize this admiration for what it was? She certainly did not revel in her own attractiveness, however there was something to Mr. Bingley's looks that made her blush. The sensation that discomposed her was she found that for the first time, a gentleman's admiration was not unrequited.

His initial introduction to the neighborhood had shown Bingley to be everything a young man ought to be, lively, good-natured, sensible, kind, and rather handsome. He only improved upon further acquaintance. Jane could not help but admire his happy manners, so in contrast to her own husband's stern character, though she was always as circumspect in that admiration as her situation in life warranted. He was exactly the sort of amiable man Mrs. Collins had always imagined herself falling in love with. However, fate had not given her the opportunity to do so.

No indeed, Jane was Mrs. Collins, Miss Bennet no longer, and even if she had refused her husband's suit, it certainly would not put her in the path of meeting Mr. Bingley or any other kindly gentleman in his stead. There would have been no Netherfield ball for her, and unlikely many others as well. The future of the Miss Bennets had been bleak indeed. With both parents dead and Mr. Collins the Master of Longbourne, to be Miss Bennet would mean that the pleasures of a ball at that Great House would be lost to her - she and her orphan sisters would not have been able to afford to stay in the neighborhood, and certainly not within the sphere in which they had been brought up.

Jane shook her head at her own idle day dreaming. It was foolish to engage so…and yet…In an alternate life, a life where her father had lived to a ripe old age, a life where all the Bennet sisters remained at home, what delight would she have felt as such a prospect? She closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the girlish chatter of a house in uproar fill her ears and touch her heart.

A rueful smile graced her pretty lips at the imagined cheer. Her mother, still loving a ball as much as any of her young daughters could, had been insistent on a dance master being hired for her daughters. Even little Lydia had participated in the instruction, watching with wide eyes and gleeful claps as the four elder sisters paired together. Hiring the master was the one insistence on which Mrs. Bennet would not be denied in the education of her daughters. Mr. Bennet never had been able hold firm against the wishes of Mrs. Bennet when she was truly determined to get her way. To have a ball held at Netherfield, the most grand house in the neighborhood, would have thrilled Mrs. Bennet as much as it would have Jane or any of her sisters.

Returning to the task at hand, she pulled a pretty gold ribbon from her sewing box, intent on reworking her best cap to suit the finery such an evening required. If she had still been Miss Bennet, there would have been no cap, instead she would have worn her grandmother's pearl comb and with sprigs of fresh hot-house flowers worked into her coiffure. She also would not be selecting ribbons to rework such a venture, but would have had fabric and lace to create a new gown. A private ball at Netherfield would have called for the eldest and most eligible of the Bennet girls to have a new gown, would it not? Would Mrs. Bennet have left such a dress to the skills of the modiste, or would the girls all have worked on the project together?

Jane did not begrudge her younger sister any of the finery, nor any of her opportunities. She always gave Mary's preparations as much as attention and care as she imagined their mother would have for her eldest unmarried daughter in the house. Mrs. Collins' temperament did not have any room for resentment. Yet, in quiet moments, in the privacy of her own thoughts, she did wish that her time to be young and beautiful and gay had lasted just a touch longer. She envied that Mary had her chance to be young, such as it was, when Jane's own transition to adulthood had been so very harsh and abrupt.

It was Mary who would wear grandmother Gardiner's pearl comb, Mary who would wear a dress almost new. It was Mary who had the chance to meet a gentleman she truly preferred. Mary who Mr. Bingley should be admiring with that heated gaze of his. Indeed, Jane felt foolish for indulging even for a moment in the idea of his flirtation. Mary's time to find a suitable partner was swiftly dwindling. Mr. Collins was a harshly critical man when he could be troubled to speak, and he had never had any admiration for Mary. As a child she had unnerved him with her wide eyed stare and morose nature, and he had only been too glad to have her live with the Phillips family. As an adult he found Mary's quiet, determined, unflappable disposition repugnant and her looks almost plain enough to be repulsive.

Mary was not plain. Jane had never thought so, but she always tried to find what was most attractive in another person and admire that feature. Mary had many features to admire if one were but to spare her a second glance. No, Mr. Collins ugly remarks were fueled by the ugliness of his heart. He was not a man known for his amiability or his kindness. He was cruel to others seemingly because he was able to be so, as if it brought him pleasure to spew forth the venom that resided inside of him. There was no reason to hate Mary, and yet despise her he did. Mary would have a very little window to escape this life for a better one. If she was not married by her twentieth birthday, Collins planned to place her in service before her majority.

Mr. Bingley's arrival in the neighborhood was fortunate. But it was not for Jane's good fortune but Mary's. It was natural that Jane should want a husband for her sister who she herself would admire, were she a single woman, was it not? She needed to take Bingley's admiration for herself, and transfer it somehow to the eligible Bennet sister. They did not know when such an opportunity would arise again. It would be very encouraging if Bingley seemed to particularly admire Mary, but he seemed indifferent. Jane could not let his arrival be for naught. Mary must escape Longbourne, she must get away before she was sent away. If Mr. Bingley was not persuaded to court Mary in the traditional fashion, it was Jane's thought that he must be made to with a compromise.

Somewhere buried deep, tender hearted Miss Jane Bennet was disgusted by the ugliness of her own design. Mr. Bingley had shown himself to be nothing but a good neighbor and honorable gentleman, and Mary seemed to care for him as little as he did her. They were common and indifferent acquaintances. She remembered what it felt like, to be forced to marry a gentleman who she barely knew and for whom she had felt absolutely no affection. But she was Miss Bennet no longer, she was Mrs. Collins, and while she redid her best lace cap, she left the fantasies of that girlhood aside and she plotted for the future. There was nothing she would not do for her sisters.

When Mrs. Bennet had passed in childbirth, taking the young heir of Longhorn with her to the grave, it had been a painful, trying time. Jane was the eldest of a gaggle of motherless sisters and eldest daughter to a father stricken with bereavement. No one, not even gentlemen's daughters, sheltered from the particulars, could be unaware of the dangers associated with bringing a child into the world. The death of her own mother was the first loss of any kind that Jane had ever experienced personally, but it was not the first such loss in the society of Hertfordshire, small as it may be. Many things are hushed away from children's ears, but being the eldest, and always having such a steady, mature comportment, Jane had been privy to details that her younger sisters were not. It had been trying indeed, but it was not a shock. Mrs. Bennet had born five healthy children into the world, with varying degrees of ease. After Lydia's birth, the physician and the mid-wife were both of like mind that Mrs. Bennet should not have more children - but with an entail and no heir, Mrs. Bennet was not to be dissuaded from the wifely duty she considered her life's mission. Sadly, it was proven to be a fool hardy endeavor. There was always risk where there was children involved.

Everyone was kind and conciliatory. Neighbors and family alike did their best to care for the Bennet family in their loss. Aunt and Uncle Phillips were nearly daily visitors at Longborne, despite Aunt's tendency toward excessive weeping at the slightest provocation. Aunt and Uncle Gardiner were an even greater balm, bringing their own young children and nurse with them, going a long way to distract Kitty and Lydia with playmates. When Mrs. Bennet was gone, Jane knew that the task of caring for her family was naturally her responsibility — and how could she possibly give way to her own grief when her dear sisters and poor Papa were so bereft?

One may weep, but time could not be constrained by the wash of tears. It pressed ever onward, marching relentlessly against the tides of life's tribulations. There could be no hindering the passage of time. Jane had only been five and ten when she learned this, yet she had accepted it with all the grace she could muster. There could be no thinking or feeling for herself when there were others to care for - sisters, several of them, each younger and more frightened than the next. She had witnessed it in her father as well. Certainly a year of mourning seemed a respectful time to live in their grief, events outside the Bennet's family control could not stop with them. There was a hardness in Mr. Bennet at all times that had never been present before. Not cruelty, but a certain steely resolve so plainly written in his countenance that he had become something of an imposing figure.

At the time of Mr. Bennet's inheritance, Longbourne had resided under the care of a good-hearted steward and an indulgent estate owner, life time friends of some forty or more years. His father had died an old man, with a son and heir who had just begun a handsome little family. The estate's income was such that Thomas need never seek employment before his inheritance, and his father's temperament one that indulged his son's idle life style at all times. Yes, the Bennets of Longbourne were gentlemen, there could be no argument. However the estate had not been flourishing under the care of two old men whose only care in life was maintaining the comforts of their life style until the end of their days. Thomas, comfortable and invested in enjoying his young family as his only responsibility, had not given the ledgers more than a passing glance since his formal training in estate management directly after his grand tour. It had been many years, and as his pocket money had never changed, he had never wondered at the prosperity of the estate itself. What he learned was disheartening. Longbourne was not doing nearly so well as other estates in Hertfordshire, and his pocket money should, indeed, be changed until it began to perform again. It was going to take financial investment and serious hands on management to bring the land under good regulation once more.

Fanny Gardiner was a good sort of girl, certainly very pretty…and she had brought with her a respectable sum of ready money. Thomas had courted Fanny because it was his father's desire that he find a girl with a dowry, and here was one who lived in Meryton, sparing the expense and nuisance of going to London for the season. His life had been easy and idyllic, and so as the dutiful and contented son he married as his father chose for him with nary a second thought. He had enough of a young man's lustiness to believe he could be quite comfortable with a pretty, empty headed thing to share his bed, and had not minded that he held his own wife in little affection and viewed her mostly with conceited amusement at the inferiority of her mind in comparison with his own. He had not counted on time to slow that desire and increase his need for a companion and helpmeet as his concerns over his struggling estate mounted. When the initial fog of shock after Fanny's death had lifted, Thomas had known what must be done. Fanny had given him children, children he did truly love, but she had not borne him an heir. Longbourne needed an heir, and so he needed a wife. It was Thomas Bennet's duty to marry again. It was Jane Bennet's duty to raise the children of the wife he had buried.

What had occurred to neither father nor daughter, as they looked to the future with a grim equanimity, was that Mr. Bennet would be unable to see his promise through. Not seven months out of full mourning, the Bennet family was torn asunder once more with the worst sort of news — the patriarch was dead after a terrible carriage accident on a wet Spring road. The Bennet daughters were orphans. Thomas Bennet had died without male issue. The name Bennet ended with Thomas, his will, the same as his fathers, had never been updated to specify anything that belonged to family rather than the estate….all of Longbourne not clearly directed toward Mr. Bennets daughters in his marriage settlement - every inch of the grounds and every last ornament on the walls, went to a stranger named Collins, whom none of them had ever met. The girls had next to nothing in their own right.

The heir of Longbourne was arrived, with wagons of belongings in his wake, while Mr. Bennet had been buried only two days. The rapidity of his arrival had been startling, for as it was an unseasonably warm Spring riddled with violent rain storms, the parson was insisted that they inter Mr. Bennet while the skies clear and the ground dry. They must have begun packing as soon as word was received and ridden with a back breaking pace to be upon them so shortly. The neighborhood had been affronted at his lack of sensitivity in coming upon a family so shortly in their grief, but a few well placed whispers had the neighborhood turning in his favor as word spread he planned to take on the Bennet daughters as his wards.

For her own part, Jane found the new head of her family rather intimidating. A tall man, perhaps the tallest she'd ever seen, with broad shoulders and a faced browned with much time spent out of doors, his presence was a dark and foreboding one in the household. He was not kind, and he had little patience for the youngest girls and their childish needs. Yet he did not show himself to be cruel, simply stern and unfeeling.

The Gardiners had come from London, once again installing their own nurse to look after the youngest girls while the will was read and the house prepared for the new master. Jane was not always included, but many heated discussions had ensued about the future of the Bennet daughters, and she was quick enough to fill in the pieces. Mr. Collins had a son, only a few years Jane's elder, away at school, and no wife. The new master had no patience or desire to raise five young girls. He did not consider it his concern whatsoever, yet was very concerned that his reputation in this new part of the world be that of the most outstanding gentleman. He had always known of the entailment, but had not been given a gentleman's education or raised in a family that had any expectation that this good fortune would come to the Collins line. Having worked all his life, to now be gentry, to be part of the class that had always snubbed him, Collins was filled with a conceit he had never known before. He must be seen to be doing the right thing for the Bennet girls, while taking on as little of the burden himself as possible.

It had been Jane's uncle who had unwittingly decided her fate. Learning that the senior Collins already had his heir, Mr. Gardiner suggested that they affiance Master William Collins to Jane, allowing them to marry when William finished his schooling and received his ordination. This would irrevocably connect the two families, so that the Bennet line would continue at Longbourne, and by accepting Jane for his son's wife, the local populace would look favorably at Collins. In exchange, the Gardiners would take on two of the sisters into their household, and the Phillips' would take responsibility for one. Collins would need to only support Jane as his son's wife, and Elizabeth, the second eldest, as his ward.

It had seemed such a sensible solution, agreeable to all parties involved. Jane had never met her future husband, but her Aunt and Uncle pressed upon her that it was the most sensible solution to help her sisters — and Jane wanted to help the Bennet orphans, did she not? As her sisters were all she had, Jane rallied herself to comply. After all, she would have a protracted engagement, perhaps she would learn to love her fiancé given time and proper encouragement. Fortunately to some and less fortunately to others, the long engagement was not to be. By the new patriach's instance, Jane found herself standing upon the alter in her best half-mourning dress of lavender and a grey spencer. The timing was not quite as shocking as the groom was.

Uncle Gardiner had been the one to propose an alliance between the houses of Bennet and Collins, but he had not seen the details of the arrangement examined as closely as one might have wished. Master Collins, the next heir to Longbourne before his father, was his father's namesake. Indeed the vanity of the latter would not allow for anything else. Gardiner had of course attended the marriage settlement when it was written, but so busy in tying up the financial future of the Bennet daughters and seeing they were provided for, he had neglected to notice that while the name of William Collins had appeared many times, William Collins II, had not. Gardiner had affianced his barely sixteen year old orphaned niece to a man nearly as old as her father. It was a legally binding document and should Jane refuse and create a breach of contract, Gardiner had no doubt Collins would have delighted in taking his case through every legal avenue he could. He would leave no stone unturned. He had decided he wanted Jane, and she would belong to him. Her Uncle had seen to that.

As if summoned by the turn of her thoughts, the man in question appeared in the door way, his large frame cutting an imposing figure.

"I hope, Mrs. Collins," her husband said, crossing the threshold of the sitting room where his wife sat alone with her sewing, "that you have arranged a good dinner for today, for we are to have an unexpected visitor."

Jane obediently looked up from her project, folding it neatly in her lap. She did not speak but fixed her husband with her full attention. The small furrow in his brow and the flatness of his speech did not encourage a reply. He seemed in a foul temper.

"It seems," he continued, pulling himself up to his full height, "that my doddering, fool of a son has seen fit to visit his father for a short while, now that he is comfortably settled in his parish." The very idea of it seemed to sour further as each word passed his lips. His countenance was flat and yet extremely foreboding.

Jane tilted her head and gave a small nod, to indicate that she heard him. She had learned better than to speak if not directly, expressly addressed when such a look crossed her husband's face. What little patience he possessed was totally absent in a moment such as this. She would make herself as small and meek as she could appear.

"From what I have discerned in his sprawling missive, is that it is the express wish of his patronesses to show his familial duty in both honoring his father, AND in finding a wife! He must set an example for his parishioners after all." He took two strong strides toward her, his eyes carrying the steely glint of barely contained rage. Jane willed herself to crane her neck so that she might look up at him. This seemed to give him a dark sort of pleasure, to be admired from below.

"This Lady Catherine oversteps herself. She may be the wife or daughter of some good for nothing noble, but the Collins family is gentry, and she would do well to remember it. Her circle may be the first, but her class is the same. How dare she command a gentleman of her own sphere? And to send him to Meryton where she knows the Collins family to be the best in the neighborhood? Who does she expect him to find in Hertfordshire worthy of the Collins line? She insults us with her edicts. We are a proud family, are we not Mrs. Collins?"

"Yes, Mr. Collins." came the soft, steady, reply.

"Ha!" He barked humorlessly, throwing a large calloused hand to the air in exasperation, "Proud indeed! What good is the pride of my name when that pathetic, spineless boy carries it forward? A respectable living and a respectable inheritance have taught him nothing! To bow and scrape and comply with the demands of a woman, just because he thinks her father worth more than myself! I shall box him soundly upon his arrival here, that is as proper a welcome as I can deem fit to give him. If that doesn't remind him of his place in this family, a proper thrashing with my crop will do the trick."

As many years as Jane had been married, as well as she knew her husband, for she had made studying him her life's duty, mastering her natural aversion when he spoke so violently was still almost impossible. He knew how she hated the passion of his anger, and her revulsion to it only seemed to fuel the violent turns of his nature. Mr. Collins had spent so much of his life being looked down upon by betters, that his only pleasure was to look down on others in turn. To have others fear him, well that was simply euphoric. And though at times he realized he knew better, how could such temptation be ignored when there were so many smaller, weaker, softer, than himself in his household to tremble before him? She tried to drop her gaze and swallow her grimace, but he caught it all the same.

A weather worn hand grasped Jane's chin. His grip was not truly painful, but it forced her head to tilt back, exposing the length of her slender neck. It was a command backed by a threat. She had no choice but to obey or to directly defy the angry man. And so Jane looked where her husband lead her. Fields of cornflowers stared into a black abyss.

"If something I have said displeases you Mrs. Collins, will you not speak it?"

Jane prayed that he did not feel her gulp down her nerves. "No sir," she replied, her voice even with years of practice, "you are the head of Longborne, and as such your opinions hold the greatest value in our house. I have the soft heart of a woman, I must leave such judgments to your purview. Surely you know better than I do."

Her husband's lips turned up in the mockery of a smile. "You would do well to remember it, Mrs. Collins." A calloused thumb roughly passed over Jane's lower lip, pressing the corners up into a forced smile. "You are fortunate to be so comely, for you have nothing else to recommend you." His eyes brightened with the pleasure of insulting her. "Is that not correct?"

Jane prayed that the blood rushing to her face in anger would present itself as a becoming blush. She had never imagined she would be bound to a man with such a hateful heart, but by any law, he owned her, and could do with her as pleased for the most part. She had learned long ago that defending herself against such attacks on her character only tempted him to commit further injury to both her spirit and her person. "Yes." She answered.

The dark orbs gazing down at her crackled with intensity. "Yes?" He asked, the word hanging with a question.

"Yes, sir." his wife corrected.

He released her chin with a small slap to her flushed cheek. It was a not enough of a hit to cause any injury outside of her abject mortification, but her husband far preferred to land blows to her pride rather than mar her comely face. "Good girl." He replied smugly.

William Collins took a step back, drinking in the site of his beautiful and submissive wife, trembling ever so slightly before him. He did not smile, but his shoulders rolled back with self satisfaction at the pretty picture of obedience she made before him. "Well get up." He spat, pulling the delicate piece of lace she worked on from her hands and throwing it to the floorboards beside her. "You have useful employment to occupy yourself with now."

"Indeed," Jane answered, rising dutifully, "there is much to be done."

* * *

 _Next Chapter coming SOON! (for me) Thanks for reading and as always please leave your thoughts!_


	7. CHAPTER SIX

**Author's Notes:** _Thank you all so much for the favorites, follows, and reviews after a very long absence. It really helps to inspire writing to hear feedback, as I'm sure any author will attest to. I've actually managed to follow through on promise for once and am getting the next chapter out with a decent amount of time. The next chapter has been started._

 _I did have one reviewer critique my grammar and spelling pretty harshly. I would just like to say again that this story does not have a BETA or any editor of any sort at this point in time. Typos are going to happen. I think I have a fair context for grammar, but I'm also a human being prone to mistakes. If you want to read a technically flawless document, please stick to professionally published pieces. For those of you who have posted reviews pointing out specific mistakes, THANK YOU! that kind of constructive criticism actually is very helpful. General comments that this story is unedited are not. I already know that, and so should you._

* * *

 _Darcy,_

 _The little season has begun in earnest, and I despair of the society I have seen so far. Perhaps war has changed me in more than the obvious way, for I find the busy nothings of the Ton more tedious than ever. Outside of visiting with Georgiana, there is little pleasure to be had here, and I almost long to hear my summons from the War Office! That is a sentence I never thought to write to you, cousin. Yet it is true - England may be at war, but the drawing rooms of London certainly are not. My army acquaintance gives me some relief from the gossip hounds, but we both know that my presence in Town always demands a certain amount of sacrifice made on the behalf of society, as my good parents are exceedingly fond of it. In fact, the Countess has started this season with a new project in mind - they apparently had some sort of falling out with their last illustrious artist and have decided to extend their patronage elsewhere. Indeed, I was somewhat alarmed to learn that they have decided to reestablish themselves in the theatre. After the retirement of Mrs. Siddons, you know Mother lost much of her interest in that field, finding no other performer as capable as that great lady, however a certain someone has sparked her interest once again._

 _I confess, I wasted an entire sheet of parchment in my original copy of this letter, for at first I thought I should conceal my seeing her from your notice, but I finally decided that such concealment is beneath us both. The Earl and Countess are quite taken with the charming Miss Bernard, and indeed, I found myself glad to see her, though I had told myself many times to remain stern and aloof for your sake. I hope you can forgive this weakness in my character. Your Miss Bernard was always a fascinating creature - intelligent, lively, such playful airs that conversing with her can be nothing except pleasant. I know very well that her refusal injured you, but surely after almost three years, you have recovered sufficiently to hear tidings of our friend and wish her well. Truthfully, it was a most imprudent match, the very idea of it as incredulous as it was hysterically romantic of you. She spared you from making a grievous error in that regard. She also spared dear Georgiana's the indignity of a having a very scandalous connection during her own search for a respectable marriage partner._

 _I digress. Logically, you were fully aware of all the obstacles such a union presented, and I know you need not have me remind you of them. I suppose in writing of them I hope to soften the blow for you of knowing she has been much in the company of our family these past few weeks, and you are likely to see her on more than one occasion when you finally deign to grace us with your presence in Town. I can not let you walk into the battlefield unprepared to face such an enormous foe as unrequited love. You can not avoid us for the entirety of the season, lest you greatly disappoint a sister who looks up to you as a father, but perhaps you will decide to remain with Bingley through to the holidays. Miss Bernard's working calendar begins in earnest in January, and as she will be playing the title role in one of the bard's most romantic classics (do I dare to write the name?) she will be much engaged during that time of the year, and you will find it significantly easier to evade her company, if that is your design._

 _I must give her all the credit in the world for her skills as a performer. On the first evening we were reintroduced, Mother had her recite several sonnets, and Miss Bernard obliged the company with enormous talent. Indeed, the room became quite emotional with her performance, even I, hardened soldier as I am, was not unmoved. However, there was one deficiency in her set that evening that did not go unnoticed, by myself at least. At the end of the evening, I was able to engage with Miss Bernard in a private tete-a-tete in which we discussed our mutual acquaintance. I had assumed that we would politely circle around your name, both knowing how awkward such a subject would be to bring up between us! Yet, for all her training, Miss Bernard could not help but to ask about you directly when I communicated that you were in the country for the little season, indeed, when she heard the name of the county she grew pale and seemed almost shocked. She seemed to take a very eager interest in your concerns. Perhaps someone less known to her would have not noticed such an event, for she recovered with grace, and yet I, who spent some time in greater intimacy with that lady, could not help but to detect her discomposure._

 _I know not why I write to you of these events. What began as a fair warning seems to have twisted into sufficient encouragement of a continuance of your inadvisable attachment. I dare not suggest that you make such a reprehensible connection, especially before our ward is properly placed in society, however my integrity must guide me in all my actions. There was such a queerness to Miss Bernard's reaction that it can not be over looked in my missive. Regardless of how things were left between you, the lady in question is not indifferent. It is only fitting that you should be in full possession of all knowledge before you meet with her again._

 _With this thought, I must bid you adieu, my calendar is so full of tedium that I scarcely can find the time for writing. Pray respond quickly with glad tidings of a heart unaffected by news of old interests, and a wit ready to evicerate Bingley's playing at the gentleman to a willing audience. Know that I am the perfect correspondent to laugh at all your friends' foibles with — I have no head for gossip, nor any acquaintances in the same circle as that gentleman from the North. I am very eager to hear how he and his sisters with their Town manners enjoy quiet country living._

 _Yours,_  
 _Richard Fitzwilliam_

Had Fitzwilliam Darcy known upon receipt of a lengthy letter from his cousin that is contain news of such an alarming nature, dwelling most expressly on the subject he most often tried to forget, he would have perhaps waited to be in the privacy of his own rooms before opening the missive. As it was, when the post came he had eagerly sat down to read, for Miss Bingley's conversation was particularly grating when she had little to entertain her beside the sound of her own voice.

The weather was unfavorable for shooting as it seemed as though the heavens would open at any moment, and it seemed needlessly risky to force the sport. The company was generally listless, and his hostess especially so. Her eye was constantly turned toward him, looking for any opportunity to open a conversation or tend to to a perceived need of his, any way in which she could prove herself as consummate hostess and desirable marriage partner. The attention was officious, and Darcy only bore it with politeness for the sake of his friendship with her brother. In many ways he could not blame Miss Bingley for attempting to attract his notice. Did he not have every trait possible to be a good match for her, or any woman? Would it not be more strange as a single woman that she be disinterested in him?

With a melancholy half smile, he shook his head at his own thoughts. In one way he was indeed, very deficient. In a very harsh lesson, he had became aware that he lacked all the skills necessary of pleasing a woman worthy of being pleased. That he had always despised those who sought him out due to his family connections and personal wealth, yet had done nothing to offer a woman any more than that was a very ridiculous irony. He could not pretend that Richard's letter did not discompose him, knowing that it would be very likely that he would be frequently in Adelaide's company once again, yet his heart secretly delighted in the prospect.

In a society where others saw only the Master of Pemberly, Adelaide Bernard had been introduced to Mr. Darcy, a man. Her history unknown and her education at the hands of an artist and foreigner, she had a sort of irreverent attitude toward rank and could converse with ease with anyone she was introduced to. Darcy had never been so comfortable in a woman's society outside of his family circle as he was with hers, and that comfort rapidly transformed into an intoxicating attraction. At first, he had barely seen her as handsome, in fact he had once declined an introduction to her at a ball, seeing her as an unfortunately plain, grasping actress, and wondering how she had ever been invited to begin with.

Then, a few short months later, Benito Forelli had unveiled his latest masterpiece, "Weeping Venus". All of London was in a rage over the piece, which could not be more perfectly timed with the revival of popularity with the classics. He had been dragged to see it by the normal social rigors of the day, had been absolutely struck by the beauty of the model and intensity of the pain in her very fine eyes, eyes that seemed to leap off the page and lock into his mind. Darcy had of course seen "The Laughing Venus" and appreciated the lush curves of the model as much as the artist's skill in depicting them. It had been several years since that painting had adorned the Duke _'s home, and somewhat faded from his memory. It was only during the viewing of Forelli's latest work that he realized he had rejected an introduction to the darling muse of society.

When they next were in company together, Darcy did not behave nearly as boorishly as he had done previously. He quickly realized that Miss Bernard had perfectly genteel manners and excellent breeding, even if she had a certain sort of conceited independence in her manner. However, she was so arch and playful that she was incapable of causing offense, no matter how shocking her opinion or how decidedly she gave it for so young a person. To Darcy she was everything delightful.

Darcy called frequently and became quite a fixture at her at-homes, though he rarely had much to contribute to the conversation. When he discovered her walking at Hyde Park during the less fashionable hours, he found himself making a habit of frequently the same times and pathways quite unconsciously. She was a force that drew him in.

Little did he realize that Miss Bernard found him a strange man, taciturn and proud. When the violence of his affections finally overcame him to the point of making her an honorable offer, she had been completely shocked to be the recipient of his affections and had not hesitated to make them known.

"Can my cousin be correct?" He mused, his eyes scanning the paragraphs about the lady in question for any hidden nuances he may have previously over looked. "It can not be, I know how little she thinks of me! Would that I had behaved in a more gentleman-like manner, as her reproof called upon me to do!"

Still, there was an even more interesting piece to the report than the wishes of his own heart. Darcy had been amongst Meryton society for only a few short hours when he had been struck with the remarkable similarity of countenance between his own Miss Bernard, and one Miss Mary Bennet, of the nearest neighboring estate, Longbourne. At first he had not been able to place why his eye kept turning toward the unremarkable girl. Pleasant looking enough but by no means a classical beauty, there was no obvious reason Mary Bennet should attract his notice. Darcy was used to the highest levels of society and therefore had seen all the most beautiful debutantes paraded before him. A slip of a girl like her was nothing that would turn his head. It was only until she had spoken to him, polite, yet cool and almost irritated, that he had been struck by the comparison between this country miss and the woman he ardently loved.

He had always been curious about the background of the actress who had stolen his heart, though he had always supposed it could not be anything close to illustrious. His happiest thought that perhaps she was a natural daughter of a member of gentry, for her breeding showed her to have all the skills and talents of any gentleman's daughter. However that hypothesis seemed unlikely as no rumors began as her star started to rise in London society. Surely someone would wish to claim her, even if only furtively.

When Darcy was first struck by the notion of how much Miss Bennet reminded him of Miss Bernard, he had become somewhat attached to the idea that there may be a connection. What he learned of the family did not naturally encourage the supposition, however it did not fully distinguish the notion either. The Bennet family was comprised of several daughters, and while the eldest had married her father's heir and become Mrs. Collins, all the younger Miss Bennets were unmarried and described as being away. From what he understood, they had been raised by other relatives in Town and elsewhere. It was difficult for him to pin down clear and exact answers to these questions while remaining circumspect in his inquiry. It had been clear that his arrival and that of his friend in the neighborhood had given rise to some hopes that either single gentleman might attach themselves to one of the local ladies, and to inquire minutely into the family details of Longbourne might generate speculation he had no wish to foster.

But now his cousin's letter had created a need for further investigation into the matter. It could not be that Darcy was simply a lovesick fool seeing hints of the object of his admiration in strange women, not with such a testimony before him. She had asked after him by name, asked and been alarmed to learn that he was in Hertfordshire, of all places. Could this be a coincidence? How unlikely such things were! There was nothing for it. Darcy must learn everything about the Bennet family he could, and with alacrity.

Without ceremony he stood, crossing the parlor to the writing desk. His party looked on, somewhat startled by his abrupt movement.

"Not bads news I hope, Darcy." his congenial friend began with concern.

"What?"

"Your letter man! You have quite the agitated look."

"Indeed dear Mr. Darcy, you do look very ill. Is there anything I can do for you present relief? Shall I ring for tea?" added his cloying sister.

"No, I thank you, pardon my interruption. Only a pressing matter of business which I must respond to with haste. I beg you would excuse me."

"Certainly we shall not delay you for an instant, but allow me to ring for tea so you may soothe your present agitation. A clear head can only be a balm in situations such as this."

Defeated by the politeness of his hosts, Darcy sighed. "Very well. I thank you."

Just as Miss Bingley had finished her instructions for tea, a footman came forward and announced callers. "Mrs. Collins, Miss Bennet, Mr Collins Sr and Mr. Collins for Miss Bingley."

The parties all rose with the announcement, though with varying degrees of pleasure at the callers. It was only polite that they should return the call after personally being invited to the ball, that it should be the very next day was beyond the established modes of decency. For Darcy's part, he could barely believe that they were at the door step, it was as if the turmoil of his own mind had summoned the family hither. Alarmed, at his on discomposure, he turned toward the window to collect his thoughts as the family arrived.

The Master of Longbourne strode through the threshold with all the advantages that height and proud bearing could deliver. He was the sort of man who seemed to fill any space he occupied, and the other members of his party trailed in his wake looking decidedly smaller and meeker than they did when standing apart from him.

Bingley was quick to greet his guests, his affability even more pronounced than was typical for that gentleman. "Good day to you all! Will you not make yourselves comfortable? Caroline has just rung for tea, and will instruct Mrs. Nichols to add more settings presently. It is excessively kind of you to call on so bleak a day!"

The Longbourne party returned his greetings with all the usual manners of politeness, though some were more capable of expressing it than others. Mrs. Collins seemed to sparkle under the warmth of the address, and with similar warmth to her host's, added, "Please allow me to introduce our son to you - this is Mr. William Collins, of Kent."

The unknown gentleman bowed once again, in unusually low a fashion. He was a tall man, though barely touching Darcy's stateliness, and falling far short of his own father. His air was grave and formal, as if he was being presented to royalty rather than a simple idle gentleman of wealth and no important connections. "I am exceedingly pleased to meet you sir, and all your fine family. You are prodigiously kind to receive me."

"It is our pleasure sir! Any family of Mrs. Collins must be welcome at Netherfield!"

"Please, do be seated," added his hostess, with a tone that stated she much rather they did not.

The group heeded her words, arranging themselves with quickly. Darcy watched from his vantage point by the window and noticed that Mrs. Collins somehow sat Miss Bennet next to his friend. It was only a gentle touch from one sisters arm to another, but that had been enough for Miss Bennet to follow the lead her sister presented. Darcy did not enjoy the machinations of hungry husband women, but he could not help but admire how subtly Mrs. Collins deployed her craft. Her husband she quietly diverted toward Mr. Hurst, a simple question of what birds he had caught so far in his time in Hertfordshire allowing a dialogue to open between one self important gentleman and one who had no interest in conversation outside of his own habits. For her own part, Mrs. Collins arranged herself on the settee closest to Miss Bingley, so that she could control the flow of conversation by engaging the hostess.

The lady of Longborne seemed to have little to say, though the intelligent look in her startlingly blue eyes betrayed something of an inner dialogue. Darcy found that he could not help but envision a hazel brown set in their place with that same look — was such mental capacity a family trait? He was longing to uncover the truth, even if that truth was simply willful self deception.

However, it was the younger Collins who would demand his attention. He approached where Darcy stood by the window, effusing apologies at his assumptions - Darcy watched the approach in astonishment, thinking the younger man who addressed him had something to his look of a dog who had received a kick or two by his master - and heard the following speech with incredulity. "Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to convey to you my humblest regrets at not seeking you out as soon as I had been admitted to Hertfordshire society. Only the delay of addressing my excellent father and step-mother with all the proper civilities necessitated by an absence of some duration could have prevented my making myself known to you as soon as possible upon my arrival in this county."

Darcy inclined his head, thoroughly confused as to why this timid, bumbling man would feel any need to address him personally without an introduction. He opened his mouth to ask that question with all the politeness his own consternation would allow when that gentleman continued, as if anticipating Darcy's address. "Indeed, you are Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberly, are you not? This is the information provided to me by father, and I could not think so little of his understanding as to assume he has been mistaken in this regard. Therefore, you must allow me to tell you that your aunt, the Honorable Lady Catherine DeBourgh, and your cousin Miss DeBourgh, were both in excellent health and good spirits upon my departure from Kent, just under one week ago."

His immediate distaste for the younger gentleman begged for Darcy to extricate himself from such tiresome conversation by any means necessary, yet with thoughts of Adelaide so fresh in his mind, he could not. "Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner," applied to his manners toward all his acquaintance, not just the mode of his address. He nodded with all the congeniality he could muster. "I thank you, sir." He paused, then added, "May I enquire as to how you are acquainted with my family?"

"Indeed, sir! I apologize for not beginning my address with how I should have such intimate knowledge of so great a lady! Your aunt, Lady Catherine, is my patroness. I have recently received my ordination and been granted the living at Hunsford. She could not have bestowed it on more grateful a recipient, I assure you."

"She had mentioned that she had acquired a new parson for the position in one of her letters. I congratulate you on your good fortune."

"Thank you, sir! Indeed your aunt is all affability and kind condescension. Nothing is above her purview from the shelves in my closets to the sermons I deliver to her flock weekly. It is quite beyond what I had ever imagined for myself. I am excessively flattered by all her attentions to a person so humble as myself."

Darcy noticed the head of the Collins Sr rise sharply with his son's words. From his seat with Hurst, he barked, "Nothing more important than the attentions of a noble to someone as lowly as you, is there?"

The son paled with his father's tone. "Sir, you misunderstand me." He said with a wince, his arm raising to rub nervously along the back of his neck.

"Do I?" It was not a question, but a warning.

The attention or the entire party turned toward the exchange. Mrs. Collins seemed to eye the pair warily, a pleasant smile plastered on her face even as her eyes sharpened to take in the scene. Her sister's face set in a grim line, her intelligent eyes sparking with barely contained anger. Darcy's own party, clearly unaware of some subtext to the conversation at hand had their own reactions. Bingley appeared anxious, glancing rapidly around the room at his guests, attempting to discern a way to cut the tension. His sisters smirked at one another, barely keeping their amusement at this display of ill breeding in check. Hurst was annoyed to have a perfectly good anecdote about brace of birds he had shot in the beginning of the week be interrupted for family squabbles.

The younger Collins' hand stretched along the line of his cravat, and his words seemed to stumble from his mouth. "I, what I meant to imply, indeed, what I have been saying to Mr. Darcy, is…" The kicked dog of a man looked toward Darcy with a plea in his large brown eyes. Beads of perspiration had begun to form along his hairline.

Darcy could not help but take pity on the man, and said, "It is rare, for someone of Lady Catherine's rank to give much attention to her parson outside of the typical civilities. I see my own rector outside of services but a few times a year. From what I understand from my aunt, Lady Catherine has Mr. Collins to dine regularly. She does him a great honor."

The elder man's black eyes narrowed, and his chest rose as he straightened his back in the seat, as if to make himself appear as large as he possibly could. "My son is the heir of Longborne, he is a landed a gentleman. I do not see how such civilities go beyond his due as a member of her own class. She would dishonor him and the entire Collins family to invite him any less. The boy puts too much stock into the opinion of others. Do not encourage such a servility of manner in him."

Darcy was almost sure he heard a snicker escape one of the superior sisters, but could not be certain. He was about to reply when that gentleman's wife interjected.

"My dear husband," She said with a purr, her pretty blue eyes peering up at him through eyelashes that fluttered attractively, "no one would dare to question the respectability of the Collins family. Though untitled, our family have ties to these lands that go back for hundreds of years. Only a fool would try to imply otherwise. It is simply that Lady Catherine is such an unusually generous neighbor that surprises our son so. Indeed Mr. Darcy has owned that even he does not mix with his neighbors nearly as much as his aunt does. I dare say even we do not entertain nearly so much as Lady Catherine, for we have been remiss in inviting our neighbors to dine of late, have we not? The present company has not been to dine at Longborne, though soon we will dance at Netherfield."

Collins chin lifted with pride at his wife's words. His black eyes seemed to glint with steely satisfaction. "You are quite correct Mrs. Collins, let it not be said that a family as old and proud as the Collins's have forgotten their place in society. In fact, our purpose in calling today was to invite you all for a dinner party this coming Friday."

The tension began to dispel with his words. Darcy felt the gentleman standing next to him let out a quiet breath that he had been unaware he was holding in. He glanced at that gentleman from the corner of his eye as he adjusted his collar. The faintest hint of a purple bruise was exposed for a brief moment before being hidden from view.

Bingley was quick to jump at the invitation and change the direction of the conversation. Carried along by the kindness of the host and supercilious comments of the hostess, the quarter hour meeting soon came to an end. The Collins family made their goodbyes, and were shown out in the usual fashion.

His mind racing with the events of the morning, Darcy paced about the drawing room. He happened to pass by the window facing the drive as the Collins carriage was exiting. Pausing in contemplation of that family, Darcy stopped for a moment to watch their departure. They were close to the edge of the grounds that would lead to the road to Longborne, close to being out of Darcy's site, though still enough in range to make out the carriage. He was about to turn away when he realized that it had stopped.

In astonishment, Darcy watched the heir of Longborne descend from the family's equipage. He had a great coat and hat, but little else to protect himself from the grey autumn day that was rapidly growing black. The carriage the took off, mud flicking from the wheels and splattering the son and guest of the "proud and ancient family" of Hertfordshire. He saw the unmistakable figure of his new acquaintance pause for a moment, his head hanging, and then begin walking in the path the carriage had gone.

Disgusted by what he had witnessed, Darcy turned away abruptly. He sat down at the writing desk, ignoring invitations from his hostess to take a turn at cards. Something was not quite right with the Collins family, of that Darcy was now certain. According to Richard's letter, Adelaide had appeared almost frightened to learn he was in Hertfordshire. It was time to learn everything he could about her and this place he had unwittingly come to.

Darcy began a letter, but not a reply to his cousin, it was time to start a different dialogue entirely - a correspondence with Bow Street. Just as he was coming toward a conclusion of his missive, the rain finally let loose with an unexpected ferocity.

Concern immediately flooded Darcy. It had not been nearly enough time for the younger Collins to converse the four miles back to Longborne. The poor man was sure to be wet through. He stood, and addressed Miss Bingley, all the while cursing himself for his own foolishness.

"Please ring the bell at once, I need a pair of horses saddled immediately."

His hosts were aghast at the notion. "Good God man!" Bingley cried, "whatever can you be about?"

"Mr. Darcy, I beseech you, whatever business propels you out of doors can surely wait!"

He frowned with gravity. "I am afraid that I can not be delayed. I overheard Mr. Collins tell his family that he would seek his exercise and return to Longborn on foot. I am sure that he must be caught in this storm and can not, in good conscious, leave him to elements.

Bingley immediately rose, concern etched across his countenance. "Are you quite certain?"

The poor man's head hanging flashed across Darcy's vision. "Decidedly so, I actually observed him embark on foot from the window."

"Caroline, please ring the bell at once! We have not an insistence to lose!"

Caroline scowled, but did as she was bid. "I shall tell Mrs. Nichols to prepare some hot baths as well, for now not only will Mr. Collins be close to catching his death, but the pair of you as well! Such whim and folly, surely a man who has lived in this area for years knows where to take refuge during a bit of rain."

Darcy's frown only increased at the severity of her tone, but Bingley beamed. "That is very good of you Caroline, a splendid idea. Now come Darcy - we must dress for a very wet ride."

Darcy bowed to his hostess. "I thank you for your assistance Miss Bingley. Charles, let's be off."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** _So here we are! That action is finally starting to really take off - - looking forward to hearing all your theories and questions about what's going to happen next. I love the feedback and seeing how far on or off the mark everyone is, it's a lot of fun! Thank you again to my readers, I hope you all enjoyed!_


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